Character Sheet: Jack Edar
Appearance
Prelude

Journal Entries:

Thursday, June 1st, 1995
Friday, June 2nd, 1995
Saturday, June 3rd, 1995
Sunday, June 4th, 1995
Tuesday, June 6th, 1995
Friday, June 9th, 1995
Saturday, June 10th, 1995
Sunday, June 11th, 1995
Monday, June 12th, 1995

Name: Jack Edar
Player: Paul Floriani
Status: N.P.C. (Player Resigned)
Chronicle: Santa Cruz/Mage
Essence: Pattern
Nature: Caregiver
Demeanor: Jester
Tradition: Sons of Ether
Mentor:
Cabal: Saratoga

ATTRIBUTES:
Physical: Strength-2, Dexterity-2, Stamina-2
Social: Charisma-4, Manipulation-2, Appearance-2
Mental: Perception-3, Intelligence-4, Wits-3

ABILITIES:
Talents: Alertness-2
Skills: Meditation-1, Research-3, Technology-5
Knowledge: Computer-3, Enigmas-1, Investigation-2, Occult-3, Science-4

SPHERES:
Forces-1, Matter-3, Prime-2

Backgrounds: Allies-3, Arcane-5, Avatar-3, Node-1
Merits & Flaws: none

Arete-3
Willpower-7
Quintessence-0
Paradox-0

Appearance: Jack Edar appears to be (and is) a moderately healthy white man in his early sixties. He's about five feet ten inches tall, about a hundred and sixty pounds, slender wiry. He retains a full head of hair that is light grey verging on white, which he keeps grimmed short and neat. He has sparkling blue eyes and wrinkles in his face, including many merry smile and laughter lines, but who really looks at an old man's face?
Now that he's a store owner, he's switched to heavy work jeans held up with suspenders, a red or green or blue flannel shirt depending on his mood, and steel-toed work boots. When he works in the lab, he puts on a classic white lab coat over his other clothing. He has one brown suit that was the epitome of class and stle back in 1955, and he has kept his military uniform and fatigues despite the bad memories associated with them. He has a couple of light short-sleeved shirts for the rare hot days, and a green raincoast with a hood, and a heavy red down jacket.

Prelude:

Jack was born in 1934, and lived a poor but happy youth in San Francisco. Happy, that is, until his father, a laborer, volunteered for the army and was killed in action during World War II.
Jack was a natural around machinery; he could operate or fix just about anything he could get his hands on. While attending school, he helped to support his family by working as a part time mechanic.
At 16, he faked an ID and joined the Army, his sens of patriotism urging him to contribute to the American war effort in Korea. He was assigned to the Army Corps of Engineers.
Although he'd long sensed that there was something unusual about him, it became clear to him that there was more to the world than was generally assumed...a discovery made at an ice-shrouded river in the northeastern part of North Korea.

December, 1950...North Korea.

With a crackling thunder of booted feet beating rapidly on wet, slushy snow, elements of the US X (tenth) Corps were retreating over ground they advanced almost as rapidly upon only a month before, beaten back near the Yalu River by about a million Chinese soldiers.
Hurriedly, yet with care and skill, the unit that Jack was a part of built a temporary bridge to get several thousand troops, hotly pursued by enemy soldiers, across a river.
As the US soldiers neared, a lucky shot by a Chinese artillery piece exploded near the bridge, severely damaging several supports. Though Jack's unit worked frantically, scrambling among the underpinnings like spiders on a web, it was obvious that the bridge would not hold.
Yet it did...seemingly by sheer will. Despite incoming fire that killed the members of Jack's unit one by one, they literally held that bridge together. Jack could "feel" the will of his unit, fading as they died, supporting the structure, and realized that there was more to making than just a blueprint.
The US soldiers got away. Jack was captured by the Chinese and held in a POW camp until the prisoner exchange at the end of the war, two and a half years later. Those two and a half years he did not speak of, rarely even thought of outside of nightmares.

April, 1955...San Francisco.

Jack was released from the veteran's hospital, cured (at least in some part) from the physical and psychological wounds inflicted on him during his incarceration.
He found himself without a family to turn to. His mother had died due to a stroke and his siblings (a sister and a brother, both older than he) had made lives for themselves, and did not relish the idea of supporting what they thought of as a cripple.
Using his GI Bill money, he went to college, but found the stifling atmosphere of mainstream science to be galling. He kept his private experiments private, and eventually left college completely.
He never found a mentor, and no mentor found him. Jack developed the strong belief that you never really learn something that you're taught, only what you learn for yourself. Libraries and used bookstores encountered along the way, provided useful direction pointers, especially the translation of an old Islamic text, which provided a variety of useful philosophical concepts.
He supported himself by living cheaply and by working as a mechanic and fix-it man. His repairs were unorthodox in some cases but almost always worked flawlessly. He felt joy from fixing problems for people, and his unorthodox methods challenged their notions about there being only one way to do something.
His life remained much the same for the next four decades or so. Alone, his power and knowledge grew slowly but surely. Eventually, he learned enough about Matter to support himself in style, but continued to work as a mechanic and fix-it man, because he enjoyed it, and because each job had something to teach.

July, 1993...Santa Clara. Midafternoon.

Jack rang his twenty-third doorbell of the day.
When the young housewife opened her front door, she saw a man who appeared to be (and was) a moderately (but not exceptionally) healthy man in his early sixties. Despite his age, he had retained a full head of hair, though grey verging on white, and blue eyes that sparkle youthfully. He was of average height and slender build, and wore his usual grey jumpsuit and heavy brown work boots.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm a handyman, just going through your neighborhood. I can fix anything...appliances, televisions, plumbing. Is there anything in your house that needs work?"
The woman looked suspicious. "Well...you say you do plumbing?" "I probably fixed my first faucet before your mother was born." "How much would you charge?"
Jack smiled merrily. "How about I take a look at your problem, see if I can fix it. If I can, I'll name a price, and if you don't like it you don't have to pay." Under ordinary circumstances the woman would become even more suspicious. Jack's honest face and charming manner soothed her worries, though, and his age made him seem entirely harmless. "Come in, please."
Soon, Jack was in the basement, dealing with a faucet that when turned on caused all the plumbing in the house to rattle. "You'd think if they were trying to design the world they'd do a better job of it," he muttered as he tapped on a pipe.
"What's that?" asked the housewife, who was sitting on the steps, watching him.
"Plumbers," he replied in a merry tone. "You'd think they'd want to design things so they'd work well, and get your business. Instead they just install the pipes the easiest way that'll work." He reached into his backpack and pulled out a roll of duct tape.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going to make the inefficiency feed back on itself, cancel itself out." With that, he ran tape between two pipes, attaching them to one another, then repeats the process with two other pipes. The two fastenings make no sense to the woman, and she's again suspicious until the faucet is turned on and there's not the slightest hint of a rattle.
"How...?"
Jack chuckles. "Just knowing how things work. Study it for a while and maybe you'll see. Will ten dollars do?"
It was only that evening, after the woman's husband had inspected Jack's work and asked if the handyman was available for other tasks that the woman realized that she'd never asked for Jack's phone number or even his name, could only vaguely remember what he looked like. Jack received new insights on complexity and the way those forces that seem to want to make static reality more real work.

February, 1995...Santa Cruz mountains. Late night.

Hot on the trail of a source of natural aluminum, Jack looked up from his baroque detection equipment and saw a most amazing... and terrifying… sight.
And the monster wasn't even the terrifying part, despite her (her?) size and ferocious countenance. Plainly badly battered, she nonetheless moved with glorious grace and skill.
Not enough, against the two fellows who looked like teenaged punks in t-shirts and jeans and leather who moved faster than Jack could see, whose leering grins were almost bruising with their malevolence.
It quickly became apparent that two was exactly one too many for the dark-furred garou. Even as Jack resolved to help her (for no reason he could discern), she fell.
As did the two vampires, who suddenly collapsed into puddles of goo. Thus they remained for about an hour or so, until they regained their original form, but by then Jack, his errand long forgotten, had carried the unconscious wolf away.

Later that same year.

Jack's wanderings were finally over, at least for the time. He opened a small fix-it and knick-knack shop (chock-full of strange things) in town.
The garou, whose name was Anne Leaps Into Night, stayed with him, at least mostly, drawn to him by the same gentle tugging that he'd felt for her.

Thursday, June 1st, 1995 2:31 p.m.

"Jack's Fix It Shop"
The woman looked over the narrow blue painted wood front of the shop. Peering inside, she could see that it was crowded with appliances, many of them near antiques. Above, hanging from a pot suspended in a welded iron basket hung a number of geraniums, their red and white flowers lending even more colour to the place. Before she had crossed the street, the woman had peeked from below and guessed that there was an apartment above the shop. The City Council had decided, after the earthquake, to keep many of the apartments above the shops active as such, or as offices. She didn't know whether or not the person who ran the shop lived above it or whether the apartment was separate.
It was hot, though the striped awning in front of the shop at least provided some shade. Stepping inside, she found the air to be remarkably fresh and cool. Their was no noise from an air conditioner or swamp cooler, but two very large Casablanca style ceiling fans droned overhead. On the shelves were assorted toasters, waffle makers, blenders and espresso machines while the floorspace was taken up by dryers, washing machines, tables with boxes of plumbing pipe, tubing or wife stuffed underneath. There was even an old jukebox and nickelodeon and a few objects she couldn't place. What floorspace was left was taken up by racks of general hardware and small tools, flanked by a wooden cigar store Indian.
"May I help you?"
Moira turned and saw an older man while dark hair just touched with grey. He was slightly taller than average and had broad shoulders and a well chiseled face. He was more of the type that could be said to be nondescriptively pleasant looking rather than striking. Indeed, after she had left that day, she found she had a hard time remembering what he looked like.
"Hello, I was told by a friend that you could help me." She smiled weakly, almost as if by habit, and walked up to his counter. She noted that in the glass case under the counter were decks of tarot cards, knives, goblets, crystal balls and other such sundries, while several musty and rather old looking books lined the shelves behind.
"I see. And that was regarding?" the man, who she presumed to be Jack, asked her.
For an answer, she took out an old Kodak camera. It was one of those travel kinds, popular back in the 1930's. She opened up the case and pulled the lense forward, noting the sad condition of the accordion like leather shutterbox. The leather was so old and dry that it seemed more like paper and about as fragile. Moira handed the camera to Jack.
He in turn looked it over quickly. "Well, I see that it is in need of some lubrication, the lense is scratched and it defiantly needs a new shutterbox. I don't suppose you've taken many pictures with this lately," he commented.
"Actually," she told him in a tired voice, "that's the problem. I've taken many pictures, but they've turned out rather" Moira cleared her throat. "Well, it's hard to explain. They're just notright."
Jack looked up from the camera and looked back at her.
Moira took an envelope out from her Kaminski purse and set it down on the counter.

Thursday, June 1st 6:36 p.m.

"So what you got there?" Anne, who had come thumping down the stairs, stood and looked over Jack's shoulder. The noise from Jack's "Lab" was incessant, but she had long gotten used to the bubbling, gurgling jars and series of burners and pulsing electrodes. "There's a great new French film over at the Nick. Care to ask a young lady out for a date? I might know a certain lady who wants to go out with you."
Jack, who was examining some enlarged black and white photos, turned back to examining an old camera that he had set down on the table. Hearing Anne, he turned back and absently commented,
"Oh, a movie? Sure, I guess so?" But he made no effort to move and continued to examine the camera, as if it held some enigmatic clue that he was looking for.
Turning to Anne once again, he handed her one of the photos. "What do you make of this picture?"
Anne took the picture and looked at it. A strange puzzled look came over her face and then one of bewilderment.
"Nice looking lady and kids, but she lives in a dump," was Anne's dry comment. "And who are these people around her? Where does she work, in an AIDS ward?"
Jack handed her another, smaller, photo. "This one was taken with another camera and is more recent than the one you're holding. It was taken a week later.
Anne looked the new photo over. "Hmm. Much nicer. Actually, it's kind of cute. One of those old Victorians over on Ocean View?"
Jack shook his head. "No, Capitola, on the bluffs over the village."
Anne nodded and handed the new photo back. "Well, at least she managed to fix the place up and get some landscaping in."
"Look in the first photo I handed you," Jack told her. "The photo showed the woman and presumably her husband and two kids, an older teenage daughter and a younger son of about ten, standing in front of a derelict house, boarded up with broken windows and tall weeds in the yard. Poised around this group, but seemingly not of it were two other individuals, gaunt and thin. Their dress was odd as well, for one appeared to be dressed as like a larger version of Little Lord Fauntleroy, while the other looked more like someone out of a 1940's Jimmie Stewart movie. But the most engaging figure lurked in the background, lying in the crook of a dead tree. Unlike the other two, he seemed to be looking right at the camera. Though he was farther back, Anne could make out his eyes. They were sharp and penetrating, and though she wasn't the cowardly type by far, she seemed to have a cold chill looking at him for some reason.
Jack handed her another picture. When Anne looked at it, she gasped. In this one, the two kids were lying in a yard and there was a dog, presumably the back yard of the house, also ridden with dead weeds. Though the other two men in the first photo were absent, the one who had been in the tree was in the photo. His hair was long and straight, cut to about shoulder length and he was dressed in jeans and a long sleeve shirt. But his eyes, which also stared right at the camera, were only dark pits, with pin pricks of light staring out at the camera. His hands were demonic, looking more like those of a garou with long six inch nails that looked like claws. One of these hands appeared to be sunk into the dog, which was biting itself.
Anne handed the picture back. "Not a nice picture."
Jack nodded. "Yes, it upset the lady so much, she stopped using the camera for quite awhile. Though she had been intrigued at first, she didn't use it until recently. She swears that there was no one in that picture but her kids and the dog, which had just bitten itself when she snapped the photo." Jack paused. "The dog died, you know."
Anne didn't reply but merely raised one eyebrow.
He handed her the last two photos. In one, there was another family gathering. In it there was the original family and a number of other people. The demonic pale stranger was there as well, this time his head was bowed at the neck of the son. He appeared to be feeding, much as a vampire might, but his eyes, again, were turned to face the camera.
As if that weren't disturbing enough, the next photo was a picture of the boy in his bed. The stranger was there also, posing for the camera beside the bed, a huge snake like tongue lolling out of his mouth, almost down to his belt, and a leering grin that revealed fangs and a mouth turned into an almost lecherous smile. One clawed hand pointed down at the sleeping boy while the other pointed at itself.
"Great Gaia!" Anne yelled out. "What is this thing?"
"I have an idea," Jack told her. "I've been looking at this camera. Really, it shouldn't work. Besides the obvious defects, there are holes in the shutterbox. But, it seems to work in a way never intended by its original makers."
"Where did your `customer' get the camera?" Anne asked.
"She got it from her mother. It was one of a few things the woman picked up from her mother's home in New York, after she had died."
Jack went on. "The woman, Moira Kirchoff has left her home with her family. They're staying with some friends in Gilroy. Her son, it seems, has become very ill. The doctor's aren't sure what is happening, but he doesn't appear to be getting better."
"What are you going to do?" Anne asked him.
Jack scratched his head. "I don't know. Really, this would be better for a Euthanatos Mage, but I don't know of any in this area. And even if I did, I don't know that I would trust them. They have their own dark motives and they might be more harm than help." Jack turned to Anne. "Well, I'm just going to have to think about it. Let's go see your movie. Maybe the answer will come to me."
He picked up the camera to take with him. Anne noticed this and asked, "Are you taking that? Why?"
He shrugged. "Curiosity. I've put some film in it and just want to see what happens when I take some pictures around here. I'll develop them tonight. Say," he turned to her as an idea came to him, "Would you mind posing for me?"
"Sure," Anne smiled and lifting her hair in a dark cascade of shimmering black silk, she turned to the camera and smiled.
Jack smiled back and after setting the camera, snapped a picture. Then they went out to the Nickelodeon Theatre to see some French film that he didn't remember much, his mind being elsewhere. He did remember to snap a picture of the line of movie goers on the way in, and a picture of the yellow victorian next to the theatre on the way out. After the movie, they went for coffee and desert, laughing and talking for some time. When they got back, Anne gave him a quick kiss and went outside to go to bed upstairs. He opened up the shop from the rear and, locking it behind him, went downstairs into his Lab.

Thursday, June 1st 11:26 p.m.

Jack pulled the film from his processing machine. The film was processed, developed and mounted with negatives being deposited in a nearby slot, all in a matter of seconds. The pictures were in reverse order, so Jack examined them in turn.
The first one, which he had taken last, was of the yellow victorian. It had been empty out front, its tenants having gone to sleep. Though in `reality' it had been well kept and tended, in the picture it was as much a wreck as Moira's house. In one of the broken window, the fuzzy faint image of a pale face could only just be seen, staring out blankly.
The next photo, that of the line for the movie, showed a group of typical Santa Cruz movie goers, except that instead of being outside a theatre, they looked like they were inside a 50's diner. A waitress on rollerskates glided in front of them, smiling at the camera. It would have been a typical odd photo except that the waitress' head was sheared off in a jagged cut and was floating a few inches above her neck.
Jack took a deep breath and looked at the next photo. Anne was in it, but not as he had seen her when he took the photo. Instead, she appeared as a wolf, though standing on her two hind legs, her jaws gaping at the camera in a lupine attempt at a smile. What made Jack's blood run cold though was the figure standing behind her. His demonic face was buried in her furry neck while six inch claws were sunk into her chest. Though his mouth seemed to be biting her, Jack thought he could see the hint of a smile while the eyes, as they stared at the camera and, supposedly, the photographer, were filled with something that Jack could only describe as evil - utter and merciless evil.

Thursday, June 1st 11:30pm

Jack shook his head. Such ruminations weren't getting him anywhere. He had a problem to investigate. Shrugging aside his worry for Anne with an effort, he grabbed the photo of the diner, and studied it for a long moment, and nodded slowly. He turned to the massive box covered with buttons and switches and knobs and dials and little bulbs and flipped a big red switch on the side. The device, a 60's era Varian analog computer, came to life with a loud hum.
He then took two metallic boxes down from the shelves, and connected them with wires to the computer. He put the photo in one, and a piece of photography paper in the other, then closed the boxes carefully, not wishing to disturb the delicate equipment attached to the lid. He flipped some switches on the console, then turned to study the monitor, reading information off the vector display. He then started typing busily at the keyboard. After a couple of minutes, he turned a knob on the console, and pushed a button. A couple of seconds later, a bell (an actual bell, not an electronic substitute) rang. He opened the second box, and the picture had come out just the way he wanted it, black and white, with the waitress's head moved down and attached to her shoulders, retouched so that there is no sign of the neck wound.
"Those Silicon Valley fellers think the only way to do these things is digitizing, when we could've been vectorizing twenty years ago!" He chuckled gleefully as he ran the new copy through another device that did things to it so that the photo looked like it was at least forty years old.

Friday, June 2nd 7:45am

Jack heard Anne stirring as he finished dressing, and talked through the open door into the bedroom.
"Good morning! I have a theory," he began, as he lathered up to shave. "I think the camera has bonded with some sort of entity. The entity might actually power it. The camera seems to use functions of three different spheres. Spirit, because it picks up these invisible,
intangible entities. Time, because sometimes it seems to pick up images from the past. Entropy, because the times it plucks images from seem to be the least 'ordered', as those entropy types like to put it. There might be more to it. Probably is. Unfortunately, my knowledge in those areas is very limited."
"Couldn't you just destroy the thing?" comes Anne's voice from through the open door.
"Of course, but there's the boy to consider. If that entity is having some sort of effect on him, destroying the camera might lose me any chance of figuring out what exactly is happening here." Jack carefully did not voice his concerns about how the "entity" seems to feed off of those depicted.
"So, what are you going to do now?"
"Well, I'm going to go visit the Hall of Records, check up on the histories of the places that had pictures taken of them. I wager that that theater we went to was once a diner. That and look over some of those books I have upstairs, see if there's any data there."
"How about that 'spiritualist' place up the street? That one we passed by when we were out walking a while back? You said you felt something real' there."
"Hmph. Real mumbo-jumbo, from the look of it." A pause. "I'll think about it." All clean and clothed and spiffed up, the old mage went to the door to look in on Anne. "And how are you this morning?"

Friday, June 2nd, 1995 12:47 p.m.

"How about it Andy? You recognize any of this?"
The old man brought his hand up, squinting, to shield his eyes from the bright sun that burned down from a naked sky as well as bounce off the water in sparkling brilliance. Gulls eyed the two of them as they sat on their bench on the wharf. But as neither seemed to have any food to beg or steal from, the gulls left them alone.
"Yea, this is the Marvin's, what was the name. Let me think." Andy ran his shaking hands through his thinning grey hair, his eyes always drifting back from the pictures to the sea, which had once been his livelihood.
"Andy?" Jack prodded him gently.
"Oh. Oh, yea. Um, let me think. Yes, I used to eat there when I was a boy. My took us there after going to see a show at the Del Mar. I think they tore it down."
Jack nodded.
"Um, yes, Marvin's, Marvin'sClubhouse!" Andy snapped his fingers and beamed at Jack triumphant. "That was it, Jackie. It was Marvin's Clubhouse!"
Jack smiled. "What about the young woman? The waitress?"
Andy peered at the photo, trying to strip away the dense layers that years of oppressive hard work had laid on his mind. Finally he just shook his head and handed back the photo.
"Can't help you Jackie. I feel I should know, but something stops me. I tell you what though. I heard Marvin's son stayed in the business. He owns that restaurant they made out of a railroad car. The one down on Front Street, where it swings around the hill. His mother's up at the place. He comes to visit her. She cheats at hearts, so no one will play with her."
Jack nodded and put the photos back into his pocket.
"Well, thanks anyway, Andy. You have been a great help. How about if I buy you lunch?"
Andy shook his head. "Naw, all they got good around here is fish. And I hate fish! Caught every kind of fish in this world for years. Catch em all day, but I can't stand eating them. Besides, I ate at the lockhouse. Better get back there before they find I'm missing and come looking."
Jack helped Andy up, but the old fisherman shrugged off his help. Waving goodbye, he waddled down the wharf, heading back for his room at Sunshine Villa Retirement Home. Jack couldn't offer him a ride. Anyway, this "escape" of Andy's was the old man's one daily adventure and even if he could have taken him back, Jack would have hardly wanted to curtail the old man's brief pleasure.

Friday, June 2nd 7:57 p.m.

"Hi, I'm the owner, Marvin Hargens." He was a tall slender man somewhere in his thirties, well dressed, sporting a rich brown moustache that matched his thick hair. "What seems to be the problem tonight?" He looked at Jack, who was sitting down in one of the booths, while the manager of the Porter Coach stood waiting alongside of his employer.
Marvin's eyes drifted over the table to see if he could spot the problem first. His attention was at once captured by the half eaten steak in front of the woman with Jack.
"Is that steak cooked?" he asked, shocked.
"Oh, it's how I want it. It's really good," Anne assured him with a smile. "And it's cooked," she maintained. "I just like them on the rare side."
Marvin nodded. The customer was always right.
"Well then, what can I do for you folks?"
Jack produced the picture from his jacket breast pocket and handed it to Hargens.
"I was told that the diner in the photo used to belong to your father."
Jack watched Marvin as he looked at the photo, while the manager peeked over his shoulder. Jack thought that Hargens seemed a little shocked when he saw the photo, but that he hid his nervousness right away behind a professional demeanor.
"Thank's John," he nodded and the manager disappeared.
Turning to Jack and Anne, "Yes, this is the ole Clubhouse. It used to belong to my father. They tore it down back in `47. It's where the Nickelodeon is now." Marvin took another look at the photo. "Really good picture. I haven't seen this one."
Jack nodded. "I was wondering if you could tell us who the woman is in the photo?"
Though he hid it well, Jack could see in the way Hargens gaze darted away that he had been afraid of this question. "Ah, let me see." He pretended to look at the photo again. "Yes, I do actually. Her name was Dobson. Jennie Rae Dobson. She only worked for my father for a few weeks. Then she left. Took off somewhere."
"Is it true she disappeared?" Jack calmly asked, smiling while taking a bite of salad.
Hargen's face remained expressionless. "Ah, yes, I believe so. Turned out she was a runaway. She apparently left town so abruptly, that she didn't even pack up her things at the boarding house where she stayed."
"Really," Anne commented. "That seems strange. You say that she left town. How do you know that?"
Hargens casually shrugged. "Well, I don't really. It's just always been our contention that she must have left, since she never came back. Maybe her parents came and got her. I know she looks older in that photo, but turns out she was only sixteen."
"Well, I hope nothing happened to her," Anne stated, likewise, casually.
Hargens smiled. He was as sincerely expressive as a piece of rock. "Well, usually these things aren't all that mysterious." He looked again at the photos. "So, are you folks detectives?" he asked, not looking up.
Jack and Anne laughed. "No, I'm Jack Edar. I run a fix it, novelty antique shop on the mall."
The young man nodded. "Oh, `Jack's Fix-Its'. I've always meant to go in there. That's a great old jukebox you have in the front. A bit pricey for me though."
"Anyway," Jack continued. "I came across that photo with some other old things. I was just curious about it so I did some investigations."
"You know, this is a really good picture of the interior. I wouldn't mind buying this. Would you be willing to sell it?" he asked, perhaps a bit too eagerly, Jack thought.
"Oh, take it," Jack told him. "It doesn't mean anything to me." Actually, he knew he could re-create it if need be from the more revealing original.
"Thanks," Hargens smiled, pocketing the photo. "I'll tell John, the manager, that your dinner's on the house."
"Thanks," Anne and Jack chimed, smiling.
"Nice meeting you folks," Hargens smiled back and waving, headed for his office.
"What did you think?" Jack asked, Hargens not even being out of sight.
"He was scared," Anne told him. "I could smell it coming from his skin. And his heart began to beat much faster when he saw the photo."
"Hmm, that's some very useful talents you have there," Jack told her.
"Why thank you," Anne smiled coyly. "Do you think he's got something to do with that girl's disappearance?"
"I don't see how," Jack told her. "That boy probably wasn't even born when she disappeared. But he does seem to be acting odd, and it certainly is strange he knows so much about someone who worked for his father, for only a few weeks, before he was born."
"Did you find anything at the Hall of Records?" Anne asked.
Jack looked at her sheepishly. "No, but then I'm no great investigator. Anyway, though we've got a mystery here, I'm not sure what is has to do with the camera. I think rather, that the camera reveals things, events that had significance in the past."
Anne put her hand to her forehead.
"Anne? Something wrong?" Jack reached out to her, concerned.
She smiled back, as if to say, no I'm fine. "Probably that steak. They never seem right unless the blood's in them. I hate eating drained meat."
Jack smiled. They got up and left soon after, but as they were walking down Center Street, back to home, Jack couldn't help but think. Sensing how quiet he was, Anne let him be in his thoughts. She was tired and she couldn't wait to get some sleep.

Friday, June 2nd, 1995, 10:03 p.m.

Jack, who'd watched with some well-masked concern as the fatigued Anne went to bed, was back in his laboratory. The camera rested on a thoroughly lacquered oak workbench that showed the scars of long and hard use, and Jack was staring at the device intensely. Then he picked up a pen and continued the journal entry in the heavy black notebook, whose pages lay open to the position of his latest entry.
Of course, he could use his computer to make log entries. But Jack figured out long ago that to preserve one's work, there were few storage materials more robust than words written in ink on acid-free paper, and none of those involved computer media.
"After some thought, I have decided that the matter of Miss Dobson can be set aside for just now," he wrote. "Though the mystery is certainly interesting, the predicament that the boy...and possibly my dear friend as well...are in is certainly more pressing. What I have learned from my interview with Mr. Hargens is that the camera does seem to record images from decades...and possibly far more...in the past."
He paused for thought, then continued writing, "Without further information about Mrs. Kirchoff's mother and how she might have gotten this camera, investigating on a historical level is not likely to prove fruitful given the time restrictions I am operating under. Perhaps the analysis that I plan for tonight will prove to provide me with the lead that I require.
"If not, then I suspect that I am going to have to arrange for some consultation. Though I'm not inexpert in matters of the occult, I consider myself to be a man of science. And while I've learned that the occult and my science are not so very different, still it's easier for me to work in the one than the other."
He set the journal aside and went to a console, and began throwing switches. Bright light poured down on the camera, varicolored lights from spot lamps positioned on the ceiling. Pictures were taken OF the camera by other cameras precisely positioned at certain angles with respect to the target. The lights were repositioned again and again, with more pictures taken each time. The pictures were developed, and the images vectorized into the computer. Analysis was performed.
Jack believed, and earlier experiments had proven to him, that quintessence affected light in certain frequencies and mixtures. With careful analysis one could learn much about the prime nature of an object.
[This the free quintessence in the camera if there is any. More than just trying to determine the existance and quantity of the quintessence (he's assuming that the camera is functionally some sort of talisman), he is trying to determine the "shape" of the quintessence, to try to give himself a better understanding of the camera's magic qualities. He also tries to see if the quintessence is "frayed", if the camera's talismanic qualities may be damaged by the poor repair that the camera is in.]

Friday, June 2nd, 1995 10:15 p.m.

While he operated his camera shutters, Jack was careful to monitor any energy fluctuations on his ever versatile etherscope. There seemed to be some quite significant time distortion paradox concerned with the camera, but toward what degree and effect, and how dangerous yet remained to be ascertained. Also, Jack found that he had to increase the energy output of his etherscope to a higher setting than should have been necessary for such a cursory scan. The camera definitely seemed to draw energy toward it. His experiment done, Jack took the film and went into his darkroom.
Developing the pictures, he could see that the camera had a definate aura around it that his Kurlian (sp?) photographs registered very well.
Suddenly, Jack felt a cold chill on the back of his neck while his fingers tingled with the prickly feel of flesh warming from a frosty chill. He had the definite, unmistakable feeling, that he was not alone. And then the feeling passed.
Shuddering, Jack shook it off and tried to again concentrate on the matter at hand. Between the evidence from the etherscope and his auraphotometric analysis, Jack concluded that the though the poor condition of the camera would prevent it from operating as it had been intended in the physical sense, the quintessence integral to its new form would ensure that it would continue work in the quite different and disturbing manner that had been Jack's reason for investigating it in the first place . Looking at the Kurlian aura, Jack thought that it looked like a photo of a very potent spiritual being, like a mage. It was almost as if the camera were alive but Jack knew that it wasn't. The Sons had never been comfortable with some aspects of their paranormal research and like the Technocracy from which they sprang, they tended to push aside such research as being fruitless and frustrating. So, there was really no word to describe the camera in how it operated. The quaint notion that it was "haunted" seem to say it best. It was almost as if living quintessence had been fused the the cast metal of the antique. The camera wasn't alive, but then it was its own focus and seemed to have a malevolent will and purpose imbued into it. Jack knew that he would need to do some more research into occult phenomena if he was going to be able to come to terms with the energy matrix of the camera. It wasn't going to be easy, to say the least.

Saturday, June 3rd, 3:55 p.m.

Jack smiled genially at Dark Roger as he came in the store. "Good day!"
The cadaverously thin teenager in black jeans and a T-shirt with an expertly airbrushed depiction of a skull on the front merely grunted and started looking around, poking here and there, as he always did when he came in.
Dark Roger was one of Jack's "regulars". Despite the name, he was not (to Jack's knowledge) a bad person. Arrogant as all hell, but when treated civilly (as Jack had done, relentlessly), he was only distant, and not impolite about it. And, unlike some of the boy's crowd, Jack had never had to worry about items disappearing off the shelves and into the teenager's pockets.
When Jack had taken the place over, the relationship between himself and the goths who'd frequented the establishment under its previous management had been tense...they didn't like the way he'd removed the tattoo parlor and the drug paraphernalia, and considered him an utter waste of time. But some of them saw that he had retained some of the exotic nature of the establishment, and grew to appreciate his relentlessly friendly and charming nature, and his openmindedness (he was more than happy to listen to their opinions, and had learned some things from them), as well as his breathtakingly beautiful living companion, so he became an "acceptable outsider" to a large portion of the goths.
Jack had noticed some time back that Dark Roger knew his business. In his regular searches of the establishment, he ignored the pretty tourist stuff that was positioned in eye-grabbing locations and went to look at the serious items...at least what Jack had on display, and he'd asked about certain items that sleepers generally didn't even know about.
The old repairman had had a quiet day. He'd gently encouraged Anne to take it easy and tended for her as much as he could without appearing to be solicitous. Her growing weakness prodded him into a risk.
"When you have a moment," he asked of Dark Roger, "could you come take a look at something? I could use some advice."
The teenager grunted...he was poring through a book...and it was several minutes before he came up to the counter.
"Can you tell me what this is?" Jack asked, placing a copy of the photograph with the...whatever it was...standing next to the boy's bed, tongue extended.
The teenager's snide, "It's a photograph," died aborning on his lips. He stared at the picture for a long moment.
"I have every confidence that this is not some sort of hoax," said Jack, anticipating the goth's next question.
Dark Roger nodded. A moment. "Where--"
"There's a certain level of confidentiality involved," Jack interrupted. "But there's people in trouble that I want to help. If you don't know off the top of your head, perhaps if you could make a few discreet inquiries...?"

Saturday June 3rd, 1995 5:39 p.m.

Jack wandered into the store only after looking through the window for several minutes. Searching for occult information, Jack thought that this shop, just a few blocks from his, might hold answers. Certainly it looked more respectable an establishment than Anubis Warpus down at the unseemly side of the mall. An old woman, wearing a black sequined turban with a feather tucked into it was just finishing a sale. A young goth, perhaps a friend of Roger's, walked out with a smile, holding on to her "grave dust."
"May I help you?" the woman asked.
"I was wondering if you have any books on the occult?"
Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Jack. Reaching behind her, she grabbed a large stack of what appeared to be plaques, but when revealed by her long nailed hands, were only painted cards - tarot cards.
"The books are in the back corner, but" she paused looking from the cards, back to Jack, "the answer to what you seek is not there."
"Where then?" Jack asked, not yet questioning the strange confidence of the woman. Her eyes continued to regard Jack, looking much like a cat's, though framed in the wrinkled parchment of dusky blotched skin.
Something was coming. Jack looked to the stairway in back, near to where the woman had said the books were. A feeling, as of the crackle of something like wild quintessence, untrapped by pattern, came upon him.
Two men then appeared walking down a stairway. Jack regarded the two men briefly. He scowled, sensing something about them. He wasn't sure, but something within them reminded him of Anne, when he had first met her. There wasn't very much descript about either of them, except for the feeling. They were definitely not sleepers. Jack had the strongest impression that the first of them was the most powerful. But they both had all of the wild energy that Jack had only seen in - werewolves!
"Madame, can you close shop? I'm going to take Derek and"
The first of the two men stopped and then looked at Jack, as if seeing him for the first time.
"What's up Quinn?" the "man" behind Quinn asked. Then, seeing the gaze of the first, he too looked at Jack. "You want me to take care of this?"
His words were hardly encouraging, but as this man walked forward, the first held him back. "No, Derek. You go upstairs. I'll be right up and then we can go out."
The one called Quinn continued down the stairs, regarding Jack with an almost anticipatory stare. He reached down to his side and Jack saw that there was a sword there. Strange, Jack thought, that he hadn't seen it before. Noting how Jack had seen this movement, the man moved his hand away again. Still, his eyes were focused on Jack and any move he might make.
The tall, broad-shouldered man walked nonchalantly over to the elderly stranger sitting in the chair.
"Are you sure you don't already know the answer to that question?" the broad-shouldered man inquired of the stranger in a casual tone. A slight but tight-lipped grin played across his face.
The elderly man grinned gleefully. "Admittedly, I have to admit that I don't know that I don't know. But I can tell you honestly that I don't know whether I know or not."
He glanced at the woman, then back at the big man, and his mood was more somber. "Am I intruding? I'm trying to learn something. My business is urgent but should not take long." His smile was charming. He seemed unintimidated by the larger man but there was nothing aggressive about his posture.
The larger man's smile broadened, and the glint in his blue eyes relaxed slightly.
"Please forgive me, sir. The intrusion is mine." The larger man extended a hand to the elderly stranger. His hand was calloused but not overly thick, seeming to possess a considerable degree of dexterity. "Quinn Thompson, owner and chief stockboy of this shop." Quinn's hand hung in the air.
The older man grinned at Quinn's witticism, and immediately stood to grasp his hand.
"Jack Edar."
The man's hands seemed to be somewhat less aged than the rest of him, but were otherwise unexceptional.
"I own a fix-it place a few blocks that way," and he gestured vaguely. "If you ever have anything in need of repair..." He grinned, amused at his own attempt at salesmanship. He fit the part; it was almost too easy to visualize him with a toolbelt, screwdriver in hand, tinkering with something.
"But I don't mean to take you away from your affairs."
Quinn smiled, his eyes glinting with energy.
"No worries, I should apologize for distracting you from yours. I'll allow you to get back to your business with Madame Kuska." He nodded to the older woman, who had a faintly confused look on her face. "I'll be certain to look you up if I need any repairs, Mr. Edar."
Quinn turned to walk to the back of the shop, but hesitated in mid-turn. He pivoted to face Jack again, a small smirk of embarrassment on his face.
"I'm sorry, my head is definitely in the clouds today." He shook his head slightly as if to emphasize his statement. "I don't even know the name of your shop or where it is."
Jack grinned. "I know that feeling. And call me Jack." Despite his first statement, Jack projected the sense that he was being polite, that he was a man who missed little and forgot less. "Jack's Fix-It Shop," he continued. "Just head up the mall. It's the little blue building near the counseling center."
"Until next time, Jack," Quinn responded, "which may be sooner than we both think." He smiled to Jack and gave him a sly wink, giving the impression he was in on some sort of private joke. He then turned to head to the back of the shop, his trenchcoat whirling about his broad, athletic form.
After leaving Jack to his business, Quinn headed to the back of the shop and picked up the telephone. He dialed a number and was seen talking to someone.
Jack nodded to Madame Kuska and left the shop, no less enigmatic than when he had entered.

Saturday, June 3rd, 1995 9:06 p.m.

Jack had returned and, hearing the door open, Anne came forward and greeted him with a hug and kiss.
"Missed you," she chided.
"Missed you too," he said, stroking her long thick strong hair. Looking at her, he thought she seemed a bit tired.
"Shouldn't you get some sleep?" he asked. "Certainly I'm old enough to not have a curfew. And I can take care of myself."
She smiled. "Well, I don't know about that. Sometimes I wonder how dishevelled you'd let yourself get if I wasn't here to take care of you." Something serious touched her mind then and it was if her thoughts were drawn away from him.
Jack smiled and drew her to the couch. She was watching a late night horrour movie with Lon Chaney Jr.
"That isn't?" he asked.
"Yep - `Even a man who is good at heart - can become a wolf when the wolvesbane blooms - and the moon is full and bright!" Having finished her sonorous recitation, Anne burst into laughter.
"I was just waiting for the news. I wanted to hear if they had more on those cougar attacks," she explained, as if apologizing for being caught watching the movie.
Jack chuckled. Seeing a character on the screen, he commented, "Hey, that Gypsy woman! I saw someone just like her - well sort of just like her."
"She looked just like her?" Anne asked, pointing at the screen.
"Well, no," Jack admitted, picturing the dusky Madame Kuska in his mind. "But she seemed a lot like that woman there."
"How did your visit go?" Anne asked, snuggling into Jack's arms. "Did you find anything to help you?"
"Well, the place has possibilities. And I met the owner. His name is Quinn and he reminds me a little of someone." Jack looked wryly at Anne.
"Who?" she asked. Then seeing him look at her, she said, "You mean he's Asian?"
"No, that wasn't the resemblance," Jack told her. "I'll have to introduce you to him sometime. Maybe see what you think."
"Anyway," Anne resumed her snuggle. "You were saying?"
"Well, he might be of help, or his helper, someone who calls herself Madame Kuska and makes it an effort to look serious while turning over cards." Jack snorted.
"You don't approve," she noted.
"Hardly. That sort of trapping belongs more with another group of archaic magi, ones caught forever in the trappings of their Mythic past. Still, these people might be of help. I just don't know if I need that help yet. I don't even know how to broach the subject or even if I can trust them."
"So, you didn't talk to them about the camera?" she confirmed.
"No, I just went there mostly to see if I could come across something to give me a few ideas."
"And did it?"
Jack nodded. "Missed you," he told her.
"You said that," she noted. "And I said it first."
"So you did," he admitted. Anne got up and he asked, "Where are you going?"
She didn't answer but pushed her straps past her shoulders and allowed her dress to fall to the floor. Looking back at him, a knowing smile upon her lips, she paused only briefly in the doorway to the bedroom, allowing that room's light to silhouette her naked lean form in the doorway.
Jack could only barely set the V.C.R. to record the news before quickly following her.

Sunday, June 4th, 1995 1:15 a.m.

"Jack, there's something I have to tell you," Anne told him, refusing to allow him to sleep. Jack leaned over and rubbed her back. She had partly transformed and his fingers grabbed and clenched over thick black fur. It was like petting a dog and though he had gotten used to it, it was still a bit jarring when he didn't expect it. He blinked his eyes open, but she was almost through her transition and even before he woke up, she was once again his sweet darling Anne - the kind of girl he could have brought home to mother - maybe.
"What time is it?" Jack looked over at his clock. It was a complex device with all sorts of whirring and revolving objects representing celestial bodies. It had been with him many years and was one of the first objects he had made upon awakening. Observing the spatial representations within the clock and seeing the anthropomorphic clockface spin into view, he noted how early it was.
"Do you know what time it is?" he protested.
"I have to go," she said.
Jack was awake.
"Go!? Go where?"
"My people are calling me, Jack. I have to go."
Jack paused and listened, expecting to hear something like a dog howling. There was nothing but a distant siren.
"What are you talking about?" he asked.
"Today, I heard their voices. And later, while you slept," she said. "They are summoning all able bodies to the mountains. There is a gathering. We call it a moot."
"You're leaving?" Jack was still shocked.
"I have to," she told him. "Something great is happening up there. My people are getting ready to strike a great blow for Gaia and I have to be a part of it."
"Then take me with you," he insisted.
"I can't. There's bad blood between our kind. If you were just a human, it would be bad enough. As a mage, my people would suck the marrow from your bones and call it justice."
"Cheery lot," he retorted. "What's going on here? Does it have something to do with that cougar killing you've been so fascinated with?"
"No," she shook her head. "But that could upset our plans. Anything else, I can't tell you. I can only say that it's big - very big."
Jack thought about it a bit. Before, Anne had seemed reluctant to talk about Werewolf issues. And he did not want to begin by questioning her now. Trust had always been an integral part of their relationship.
"When will you be back?" he asked.
"I don't know. I pray to Gaia that it isn't too long. Maybe a week, maybe only a few days."
Jack nodded, and pursed his lips. "I'll miss you."
"And I you," she said, kissing his lips. Not bothering to get dressed, she slipped out of bed. Even as she opened the door, her body had started to change. Jack blinked his eyes and she was gone.
Alone with his loneliness, he sighed. Suddenly a sound woke up the night. Though the voice was primal and totally alien to him, within its savage animal sound, he detected something sad and sweet that called to him and to him only. It was Anne and she was saying goodbye.
Jack prayed he would see her again.

Sunday, June 4th, 1995 2:57 a.m.

Jack found that he couldn't go back to sleep after Anne had left. Glad to leave an empty bed, he went outside and reentered his shop. A minute, he was in his shop, bathed in the eerie phosphorescence of his ether globes, as he turned the camera over in his hands, examining it. A temptation to turn it on himself appeared in his head, but then he decided that he would rather do some more experimentation on it first.
Maybe, he thought, I'll go out tomorrow and "photograph" some sights and see what develops. One thing he decided he would have to do, was to figure out what the link was between the camera and the mysterious ghoul that always appeared in the photographs, feeding off the subjects there. Then he would need to establish if the figure did indeed feed, as seemed likely, and then how to isolate or destroy the malevolence that seemed to reside in the object.
Playing with an idea, Jack took down a jar from the shelf above one of his workstations. Then, lighting yet another ether lamp, he placed a small dish upon it, held in place by a brass bracket. Unscrewing the jar, he spooned out a very small amount of what seemed to be fine yellowish sand onto the dish. It was Tass, very rare, and though Jack loathed to make use of such a finite substance, he felt the need to do something dramatic to unlock the camera's secrets. As the Tass vaporized, converting back into raw Quintessence, Jack suspended the camera over the dish, noting that even in the heat of the etherlamp, the camera still seemed cold. He guessed that the camera was a negative energy source and that it would suck up the free quintessence. Then setting a strobe onto the entire assembly, he then turned to his etherscope and tuned into the area around the camera. As he thought, the camera was reacting to the free quintessence flowing around it and as he thought, the tass vapours were flowing into the object. However, as he traced the flow in his scope, he was surprised to see how the tass traces registered. The camera outline was clearly marked, but within its interior there remained a clearly defined area of negative energy, separate and distinct from the camera body. Jack then realized the camera wasn't just a focus, but that it existed for a unique reason. The camera housed this negative energy, keeping it separate from the rest of its environment. And this negative energy wasn't just confined, it was - trapped! The camera was a prison!
Jack looked from the scope to the camera, suspended in the decreasing flow of tass vapours. Whoever had restructured the camera for its current use had done so by trapping this negative energy - possibly paradox energy - within the confines of the camera body, infusing a fair bit of Quintessence into the metal of the object. But to what purpose?
Something about the nature of what he had witnessed and felt gave Jack the distinct impression that this negative energy wasn't just blank energy, but that it had a sentience to it. That somehow, this energy was a type of creature and perhaps that using the camera freed the creature somehow, but also gave an insight into the past or perhaps a different dimension, linked to a present, but separate from it as well.
Jack tapped his fingers, feeling just on the edge of discovery. Of course, all his suppositions would have to be borne out by experimentation as well, but still some intuition told him that he was on the right track.
Looking back to his scope, he saw something interesting. Positioning a time-energy spectrometer and aiming it at his experiment, he confirmed what he had seen in his etherscope and shook his head, realizing his error. The tass he had burned had helped him to reveal the nature of the camera, but he had failed to take into account how the raw tass would react with the more refined purpose of the camera's formed quintessence. Though the camera did draw the tass vapours into itself, the reaction seemed to more destabilize the camera's power than to reinforce its structure. It was as though the types of power were not totally compatible, a likelihood that he should have foreseen.
Thank the Maker that I was frugal with the sand, Jack thought, heading for his experiment to disassemble it. A sudden chill entered the room and Jack retreated. Looking at his scope, he saw that the etherlamp had burned away all the sand and that the tass vapour had disappeared. However, a whitish blue cloud began to hover around the camera and Jack noted with alarm that it's energy matrix was decidedly negative and highly charged at that. No sooner had he thought about running for his isolation booth than Jack saw the misty energy form coalesce, though invisible above the camera, outlined on his screen as the rough dimensions of a face. A hungry face which rushed at Jack with the speed of the wind.
A cold hammer slammed into his head. A feeling that he could only register as sated evil overcame him (Loose 2 willpower points) and he started to faint. Then the sensation disappeared. Shaking his head, Jack pulled himself to his scope, to see if he could see what had happened. The negative energy cloud had disappeared and the Quintessence structure of the camera had reestablished. Still acting like an energy sponge, the camera must have sucked the negative energy back into itself. As a curious side note, Jack realized that his own proximity to the camera and its tendency to drain power would impair his talents somewhat. He would have to use caution when making use of it, though he doubted that the object would have any permanent effect on a mage.
Feeling now very tired and drained, Jack decided he would have no trouble going to sleep.

Sunday, June 4th, 1995 1:36 p.m.

Jack awoke with a start. He didn't need to look at his clock to know that he had overslept. The stifling heat of the closed up room told him that well enough and he only glanced at the clock to confirm the time. Fortunately it was Sunday and the shop was closed.
By habit, he reached toward the lonely empty side of the bed where Anne had been, only hours before. Sadly, and still feeling tired, Jack got up and fixed himself breakfast.
Taking his food down to the shop with him, Jack entered his laboratory and, glancing suspiciously at the camera, still suspended from his experiment the night before, he turned on his etherscope and set it to broadcast. A face materialized on its screen.
"Hello brother," the black bearded man on the other end smiled, revealing teeth large enough to belong to a horse. Jack smiled. Though he had never met the mage, the Deacon's description had preceeded him, having been described as looking like a villain from a Popeye cartoon. And that was where his nickname had originated also.
"Hello. I take it you're Brutus," Jack said into the scope. "How are things over on your side of the hill?"
Brutus, like many Sons of Ether, lived in the foothills of Saratoga. Other chantries were said to lie tucked away in the hills of San Mateo, Los Gatos and Los Altos, though they were nothing to compare with the powerbase the Sons had established in Saratoga. It was a strange place, Jack thought, to found a chantry, as the Technocracy was only just next door. It was as though the Sons were openly snubbing their noses and clashes had occured throughout. But, helped by forewarning from some Virtual Adepts, the Sons had held their ground, but only just. It was a precarious existence so, though it was unlikely that the Technocracy was monitoring the ethernet, Jack took pains to not mention the exact location of Brutus' chantry.
"What brings you to call, Master Jack?" Brutus asked cheerfully. "You've always been one to keep to yourself. How long has it been since you've visited us here?"
"Actually, never," Jack had to admit. "But I'd always intended to someday."
"Well," Brutus chided. "You really must visit someday and impart some of your well kept wisdom to your brothers. What brings on this call?"
Jack finely tuned the scope to get better reception. "I was wondering if you've heard of anything happening in the Santa Cruz Mountains?" Jack asked.
Brutus could be seen to blink and pause. "That's an interesting question, brother. We were just discussing that here. There seems to be quite an energy buildup somewhere above Boulder Creek. From the looks of it, it could be a Paradox portal or maybe even something nastier. In fact, we've just dispatched one of the Brothers on your side of the Hill to investigate."
"An energy buildup? Are you sure?" Jack asked. It certainly didn't sound like the work of werewolves.
"Are we sure? The residual harmonics could power my laboratory for years. And I'm not sure that I want to see what the source is. A contact I have over there with the Chorus says that they think that Verbenna blood magic is the cause."
"Verbenna?" Jack was again surprised. "And this is from the Celestial Chorus?"
The Deacon nodded. "But you can confirm it yourself, if you wish," he went on to say. "Their Chantry is called the Unity Temple. They make no bones to hide it. It must be nice over there to live outside of the shadow of our former Technocratic Brothers. I wish my Chantry could be so open."
"Hmm, well, I have something I'm working on," Jack told the Deacon, "but if I can find the time, I might head over there."
"One word of caution though," Brutus warned him. "The Chorus is a bit paranoid. They consider Santa Cruz their fief and all other Traditions as being there only by their sufferance. Tread warily with them, Brother, as I'm not sure that they think Sons much better than the Technocracy."
"Warning taken," Jack nodded. "And thanks. It's been good meeting you, Brutus."
"And you as well, Jackie." The coarse bearded smile winked out and Jack turned once again to matters at hand.

(What you do know about the Unity Temple is that a Christian church has occupied the sight since about 1860. The current building still retains the Church trappings of a cut in cross on the stone three story tower. About a fourth of the actual church grounds, not counting the dormitories, is given over to a small but colourful garden which occupies the corner of the lot closest to the intersection. The actual occupying church bills itself as an alternate religion and is said to incorporate philosophies and tenets of all major religions and philosophies - not only Christianity, Judaism and Islam, but Hinduism, Janism, Hinayana and Marayana Buddhism, Confucism, Animistic beliefs of Native Americans, Africa the Caribbean and Japan, as well as the tenets of the great Western philosophers.
Services are held daily and some worshippers seem to actually live on the site, in the dormitory and office building behind the actual temple. Acolytes wear robes varying from white to those made of elaborate Bali cloth. Incense continually burns while gongs sound and sonorous voices chant monotone yet captivating mantras. The priest in residence at Unity Temple, is Reverend Alana Joy

Tuesday June 6th, 1995 12:03 a.m.

One by one, everyone was led into the room, whose borders were cramped by the large polished stone table that occupied its center. Thirteen chairs had been placed around the table, built of the same heavy red granite that the table itself was made of. The Reverend lifted her hands and the sounds of a series of chimes seemed to dance in the air, as if touched by wind. There was no wind however, only a still calm that serenely dulled the senses, beckoning those that sat at the table to gaze inward at the stone swirls. Blood red flowed over and through white of crystaline purity, touched here and there by bits of clear quartz.
Until they had finished assembling, the "guests" mostly occupied themselves by looking around the room, at the austere decorations, and at each other - mostly the latter. Ten men and women assembled in the room, not counting the Chorus acolytes who left as soon as their business was finished.
The room they were in was in the second story of the tower at Unity Temple. There was obviously a room above them as well, but few at the gathering could speculate what might be in such a room. Outside, traffic at the corner of Seabright and Broadway sped by, oblivious to the weight of discussion and power assembling in the quaint little building, once a modest stone church. Behind the small but colourful garden, the L-shaped building had given way to a series of chambers and halls, built of cool seamless stone, where burning incense and the new-age air of sonorous chanting and mantras crowded out thought until one felt the pull of joining in the chant, becoming one with everyone around them.
Since they were all expected, white robed acolytes led them as they arrived to the Tribunal Chamber, which by local reckoning in a history largely unknown, had gone unused for over a hundred years. Once seated, they were given clear water, served in simple wooden mugs, or hot green tea, as they preferred. For food, arriving magi were handed lacquered wooden bowls, whose dark brown lacquered interiors were filled with pieces of fresh baked flour tortillas.
"Now, following the custom of the last Tribunal held in this room, more than a century ago, we shall be seated in order. I ask you not to take umbrage at the course of this seating. We do not need any further arguments than shall be posed this night." The Reverend Alana Joy was a small, slender woman with electric blue eyes that seemed to pierce whoever she was looking at. Though she looked incredibly youthful, her snow white hair made her seem older but what her age could have actually been was anyone's guess.
"Dreamspeaker," the Reverend said, smiling and opening her hand toward the table, to indicate that someone should sit down.
The first to sit down at the Reverend's gesture was a young woman who had been ignoring all others, content instead to gaze into the tabletop. Her dress was made of what looked like a coarse cotton weave, cunningly dyed in enchanting patterns of black, brown and green that hugged her curvaceous figure. The woman's hair and skin were brown and her eyes, when they regarded them all, were a dusky green, large and softly stunning. The woman's race was indeterminate, and perhaps she was a melding of different peoples.
"I am Waahia," she told them. Waahia was a Speaker.
"Euthanatos," Reverend Joy whispered, the smile leaving her face.
A blond man dressed in a nondescript sport coat moved forward with cat-like ease and fluidity and sat down next to Waahia. His brown eyes squinted and regarded all of them as he looked around. He looked lean and dangerous, like a wild animal.
"Igor Stepanovich," was all he said. He looked cross for a moment as if, even in that brief statement, he had said more than he had intended.
"Cult of Ecstasy."
The next to sit down was a member of the Cult. He wore tan slacks and a blue Hawaiian patterned shirt, while thick gold chains lay draped around his neck. His arms were hairy, tanned and obviously muscular while his dark eyes seemed to be bright with mirth and cheerfulness. A mischievous grin spread across his face as he spoke, as if he were always tempting them all to leave the room and go outside to play.
"I am Montana Haul," he said, "And I am very pleased to meet you all."
"Verbena."
Two people, a man and woman emerged from the back of the room to sit down. Though they sat next to each other, the Verbs took pains to keep at least a chair's distance between themselves and the Cultist.
The woman was remarkably tall. She had a strong nose and deep blue eyes that seemed sleepy, like a deep pool of water. Her hair was wavy and fell naturally onto her shoulders and she offered them all a smile that seemed if nothing, very sad. Dressed in a simple dress and grey knit top, she sat down with effortless elegance.
"Bessie Moisha," she said.
The man was even taller, but slender with long fine blond hair. Though he wore a suit and tie, his arms when revealed as he took off his jacket were broadly muscular and covered with swirling blue tattoos. He stroked his long blond hair behind him, a grin on his face that could be read as either warm or an invitation to battle. Imposing in his height, he sat down next to Bessie, smirking at all of them."
"Gert Severin," he said.
"Order of Hermes."
"My name is Alexis Affery," the young man nodded as he sat down near but not next to the Verbena. The Herm was as tall as the Euthanatos but somewhat more slender, though elegantly dressed, in an expensive Italian suit. His short cut red hair seemed somewhat unkempt, surprising given his neat dress and a short growth of red whiskers adorned his face.
"Celestial Chorus," the Reverend said, sitting down herself, next to Alexis. "Then she said, "Akashic Brotherhood."
The man who sat down had a lean weather-beaten look about him. He had tanned, leathery skin, with long hair tied back in a pony tail and wore a beard, neat and trim. Once announced, the Brother quickly moved to sit and was busy regarding everyone before anyone even had a chance to notice him.
"Lloyd Davies," he told them.
"Sons of Ether."
The elderly man sitting down next to Lloyd was neatly, but casually dressed in jeans and a simple sports coat. Slender and wiry, he had light grey hair touched with white in places, which he kept short and neatly cut. The Son nodded and smiled to Lloyd and then to the others, and regarded them all with a piecing penetrating look.
"Jack Edar," he said.
"Virtual Adepts."
The young woman sitting down had long blond hair kept unadorned and simple and wore thick rimmed glasses. Her warm smile seemed if anything shy and as she sat, her hands played about on the table as if longing for something to touch. The Adept glanced about nervously and with her eyes locked to the table said, "Anne Evangelista."
"Well, I want to thank you all for coming, and I think we are ready to begin."
"Now quite," Montana, the Cultist, raised his hand. "May I point out that one Tradition seems to have been excluded.
Reverend Joy blinked. "Certainly you don't think I should have invited the Technocracy, do you?"
"That wasn't who I was speaking about," Montana said testily. "I was referring to the Hollow Ones."
Gert put his large hands onto the table and coughed to get everyone's attention. "Excuse me, but I must agree with the kind Reverend here. We cannot allow these vagabonds to be accorded the rights of a Tradition. They are simply an amalgamation of orphans, who seem to fight each other as much as they do any of us. They have no common thread or unifying factor other than that they are not part of our communities or of the Technocracy. And even if we were to acknowledge them, how could we ask them to choose a leader when they are just a mob?"
Anne Evangelista raised her hand. "Excuse me, but I have other things to get onto tonight and I know this isn't the main issue. But if you want my opinion"
"Not really," Gert cut her off.
Before anyone could say anything else, Reverend Joy was quick to comment. "Excuse me Gert, but I want everyone here tonight to have an equal share in speaking." Alana turned to Anne. "Please, continue."
"As I was saying," Anne glared at Gert. "we shouldn't exclude anyone. If a representative comes forward from the Hollows, then they should be allowed to sit."
"But no one has come forward," the Reverend said. "In fact, I had not thought to invite them."
Montana smiled and tapped his glass with his fingernail. "Excuse me, but I happen to know that a representative of a large group of Hollows is waiting outside. I know because I invited her."
"You did what?" the Reverend asked. "How!" She caught herself from saying something else. "You should have conferred with me first," the Reverend said.
"Why? Just because you're summing this Tribunal doesn't mean that yours is the deciding voice here, anymore than one of ours."
The Reverend paused, as if thinking.
"I agree with the good Reverend here," Gert reiterated. "I say, since she wasn't invited, let's keep her out. We should only start showing respect to this scum once they start acting like they deserve it."
"Perhaps we should put it to a vote," Waahia suggested.
"No chance," Montana thumped his fist on the table. Strangely, there was no vibration or sound. He paused, noting this, and then continued. "If you all don't allow the Hollows to sit in on this, then I walk and I am the elected representative of the Cult. I don't care how many Deadheads, Herms and Adepts you bring here, let's face it, the real strength on the coast belongs to the Chorus, Cult and Verbs. Without me, you have no real Tribunal. So, I say, let's let her in or I walk. So, you just all think about it and decide if you really want this Tribunal."
"Fine by me," Gert said aloud. "Go ahead and walk."
"You'd like that wouldn't you," the Reverend glared at the Verbena, her masque of cordiality slowly becoming undone. Across the table, the Chorus leader and Verbena glared at each other, as if daring each other to act.
"As far as I can see, there's no reason for this gathering," Gert growled. "And I veto any attempt to bring in the Hollows. The night's getting old and you've wasted our time enough, Joy. Why not admit it and let us all get out of here?"
"I have no objections to the seating of the Hollow," Waahia said in her soft lilting voice.
"Do any of the rest of you have objections?" Joy asked. No one said anything.
"But I do!" Gert said again, smiling as if triumphant. "I VETO this suggestion and if this council insists, then I declare this Tribunal null and void, according to the tenets of the last Tribunal held here."
Bessie, who had remained silent up until this point stood, "I am sorry, but as co-representative of the Verbena here, I must refute my brother, Gert. I do believe it is only fair that the Hollows be allowed to attend if they so wish to. So, with my vote cast against Gert's, the Verbena are deadlocked and have no vote to cast on this matter, nor can we veto your suggestion." She nodded to Montana, who surprised, nodded back. Montana exchanged a quick look with Gert, who shook his head.
Fuming, Gert folded his arms, not bothering to look at his fellow Verbena seated alongside. For her part, Bessie sat back, as if willing to become insignificant once more.
"Then, we will seat your Hollow," Reverend Joy told Montana.
Montana looked dumbstruck and then, he began to stutter, "Ahh, well, O.K. Great! Ah, she's outside, parked on a Harley."
"I think my Acolytes can recognize a Hollow," the Reverend said sarcastically. "Certainly we've had to teach them enough lessons of late."
The Reverend didn't get up but merely closed her eyes. Everyone waited for what seemed several minutes. Then, the door to the room opened and a leather-clad young woman entered, noisily chewing gum and snorting derisively as she paraded around the table, looking at the assembled magi.
"Why Bitchy thought you dumbfucks would be worth listnin too, I don't know."
"Sit down," the Reverend's calm voice suggested. The young woman stuck a pierced and studded tongue out at Joy, then inexplicably suddenly rushed to sit down. Her actions seemed to surprise herself and she looked around at the assembled Magi, shocked and seemingly a little scared.
"What's your name, Hollow One?" the Reverend asked.
"Helen. Helen Mariana. I'm ah, one of the "Black Arrows", she said.
"Who are the Black Arrows?" Anne Evangelista asked.
"There one of the pathetic gangs that the Hollows have formed," Gert snorted. "They give themselves butch names, as if they were important."
"We ARE important, you smug furback-FUCKER!" Helen said, rising and reaching for a knife at her belt. Anne pulled her back to her seat. Helen looked at Anne surprised, but her hand left her knife. Anne glanced at her arms. Needle tracks crisscrossed their way, following her veins, looking like a mockery of Gert's tattoos.
Once things had calmed down, Reverend Joy began again.
"Now that we are ALL assembled here," she said. "We come to the reason for our gathering. I shall begin by letting the Verbena tell their side of the story." The Reverend nodded to Gert, who arose and looked around at everyone.
"As you all know, for decades now we've lived here on the coast and in the mountains, sheltered from the Technocracy not so much by our own efforts, as by benefiting from the fight of the mountain werewolves to keep what they see as corruption at bay. This has been the way things have been for over a hundred years. But as you know, the earthquake back in 1989 destroyed a number of nodes. Certain of us," Gert said, glaring at Helen and Joy, "have taken it upon themselves to begin robbing werewolf nodes, raping them for their quintessence. Whatever their motivations in all this might be, the resultant effect has been to weaken the werewolves power. Now the werewolves have to watch their backs as well, not knowing if the attacks are going to come from us or from the Techs. The Techs have made inroads. Pentex has taken over the cement plant at Davenport. Fomori and mutated werewolves have been seen by the dump; vampires are more plentiful in town than they've ever been."
"We have a right to Tass!" Helen spat. "Since you've all seen so fit to deny us, we've taken our own! We have a right to survive! And we never attacked you!"
"Not directly, no." Gert admitted. "But you might as well have. Some of you know this already, but we Verbena have been hit hard. Tech troopers almost made it to the heart of our node two years ago and we only barely managed to beat them off and keep them from torching our sacred oak grove. Now that the werewolf power has been divided, the wolves are not able to watch the frontier like they once were. We've tried to help them but our power is nothing compared to the Technocracy. And certainly, fellow Tradition magi in Saratoga have not seen fit to help us," Gert said, accusing Jack Edar. Going on, "And I should tell you that this has infuriated the werewolves. They've lost face and faith in magi. They see you, not us, but ALL of you as being no better than the Techs and we were only barely able to keep them from declaring open war on all of you. Yes, Reverend Joy, you have the Verbena to thank for keeping the werewolves from torching this place and gutting every acolyte and convert you have. YOU!" Gert pointed at Helen, "have no idea what fury you've awakened."
"So, you admit it!" Helen pointed. "The furbags ARE out to kill us all. Then, you can all see that we were right to begin this war," she protested to the assembled group. "By hitting them now, we can prevent them from every being a threat to us. It was only a matter of time before they turned on us anyway."
"They didn't even know you existed until you started killing their people!" Gert screamed. "YOU FOOL! YOU BLIND PATHETIC FOOL! Don't you know what you've done? In the ashes of the war the werewolves would have launched upon you, only one victor would have emerged - the Technocracy! They would have won without even having had to fight us!"
"That is such pure Techno bullshit!" Helen screamed back. "You just don't want us to grow strong and become our own Tradition. We all know how rich Verbena nodes are, but do they share them? No! And then they scream at us for doing what we must to survive?! Give me a break. By the time the Techs get through those hills, they'll find we're more than a match for them - or any of you!" Helen warned. She looked at Reverend Joy. "We're not the same little kids you used to send your acolytes to pick on," she said venomously. "You all soon find that war has made us strong - very strong! And our plunder of tass is enough to scorch ANY of you off this planet if you even think of getting in our way." Helen looked at Gert and smirked. "That includes you, big boy, and you know its true, don't you?"
Gert nodded. "The Hollows destroyed the Green Hills Werewolf Sept. They raped beautiful self sustaining tass from Gaia's wound and have hoarded it somewhere. With Green Hills gone, the other werewolf groups are struggling to try and plug the gap, but for now, the way to Santa Cruz is wide open for the Techs. They could just march in."
"And they'll find us waiting," Helen promised. "We're not afraid of the Techs, you, the furbacks or anyone. You ignored us before. Now we have the POWER! to protect ourselves." Helen pounded the table and then looked at it much as Montana had done before, as if not trusting its surface.
Helen smiled, looking at all of them like a kid who had her comeuppance on her parents. "So, Magi, what do you say? We Hollows know how to die. You want us to show you the way?"
Now it was Gert's turn to smirk. "Oh, you'll get your chance, soon enough," he promised. "Together, my people and the werewolf tribes have banded together to try and bring the War to the heart of the Technocracy. We have now summoned and chained a power to our bidding that makes your sum of Tass seem like the nothing it truly is," Gert smiled at Helen. "We have brought the Sun Child to us."
"What is the Sun Child?" Anne asked.
"It's a demon," the Reverend explained. "The fools have brought a demon to the mountains, and they intend to launch it upon the Technocracy."
"The Sun Child!" Waahia gasped. "But, the Sun Child laid waste to Oakland just a few years ago! Hundreds were killed and the earth was burned black!"
"We didn't know how to control it then," Gert admitted. "We've learned much since then and we give it what it needs in order to control it."
"And what would that be?" Anne asked again.
Montana answered her. "The Verbena specialty - blood!"
"Blood!" Anne seemed surprised. "Whose blood?"
Gert grew silent.
"Whose blood?!" Anne demanded.
"Tell them," Reverend Joy said. "Go ahead and tell them, Gert."
"Whatever we have done," Gert said to them all, "We have done for the good of our people. We have been forced to this course," he said, again looking at Helen, "and now that we have arrived, we have no intention of turning back. We shall use the Sun Child to destroy our enemies - ALL of our enemies. And if a few sleepers must be sacrificed on the way, then so be it. Certainly their deaths are insignificant compared to all those who have died thus far."
"Insignificant?" Reverend Joy questioned. "Hardly to those sleepers who you culled for this barbarity. Or to their families. Don't you see how this evil has gripped you?" Joy asked. "You claim that the Sun Child shall rid you of all your enemies when what you don't realize is that this abomination is beyond your control. It is rather an enemy to all existence. It is a force of Paradox beyond reckoning, and you have brought it HERE!"
"We control it! You worry our fellows without reason!"
Joy pulled herself back, trying to focus and control herself. When she next spoke, her voice had resumed its calm and serene manner.
"It wants you to think you control it," she said. "My people have already witnessed two events that were undoubtedly perpetrated by your demon. It's testing the waters. While you think it's resting, awaiting your word, it's sneaking out to feed itself. It will rape a million souls and it will not be satisfied. You have brought us a greater evil than even the Technocracy. At least we have means to fight the Techs, but there can be no understanding of this thing. Even the spirits of the dead fly from this thing. Do you know something that they do not?"
"We will not change our course," Gert stubbornly maintained.
"Let us hope we can change that attitude," the Reverend said. "If not, then the purpose of this Tribunal is clear - to form an alliance for the purpose of defeating you and the Sun Child."
"As you always intended," Gert said, spitting out his accusation. "I don't know why you even invited us!"
"To give you a chance to change your minds," the Reverend said. "Though I don't think that is possible. You are too far gone in this madness - too far captured by this lust for power."
"Have you forgotten the werewolves?" Gert asked. "Do you think they will stand by and see you interfere with their plans once more? Don't forget that their shamans are the ones who have helped summon the Sun Child. You will initiate a terrible war if you all follow this course and you shall play into the hands of our enemy."
"There is only one enemy now that need concern us," the Reverend insisted. "And YOU brought it here."
There followed a great quiet as all digested the information brought forth. Finally, the Reverend turned to the others who had not spoken yet, asking them their opinions.
The thin bearded man sat back in his chair, carefully observing the discussion around him. As the tension mounted, he carefully and slightly pushed his chair back from the table. It was a quiet move, and those engaged in the shouting match seemed to pay no attention. When the furor died down, and attention diverted to the remaining four, it was Lloyd who broke the silence.
"Who are your enemies?" he said softly.
"What?" Gert asked, surprised by the sudden question.
"A man is defined by his enemies as much as by his friends or himself. You have stated that you intend to use the Sun Child against your enemies. I would know who they are. More importantly, I wish to know who they will become. Is Reverend Joy now an enemy because she does not agree with you? Will you now unleash the Sun Child upon her? We know where it starts. You have told us that. I would hear where it ends." He fell silent, carefully watching the table.
Gert drew back, assessing the question. "We summoned the Sun Child to fight the Techs. We never intended to unleash it on you."
Lloyd started to ask another question, but Gert held up his hand to show that he hadn't finished. "How many times I have asked why the Akashic warriours in Esalen have never roused themselves to help us. Yes, yes, I know, you say you walk the path of peace. But now I see you,. an Akashic and you come not with help but with only empty questions. THIS question of where to direct the Sun Child is not only ours. We have as yet tried to protect all of you from the fury of the werewolves in the past. Consider this, if you attack us, and thereby default, the great werewolf tribes, they will not hesitate to make use of the Sun Child. They have lost many to" he looked again at Helen and Joy, "predations by greedy magi seeking to bolster their own power at the expense of others. The werewolves do not shrink from battle, but I don't think they want to loose more of their people. I do not think that all of you are enough to defeat them. Already, their drums of war have been answered from septs all over the Bay Area."
Gert looked at his hands, his eyes absently wandering over the patterns of rock in the red granite that seemed to capture so many pairs of eyes.
"I would ask that all of you consider what I'm about to say. You distrust our ability to reign in this power, true? Well then, why not give us twenty-four hours to prove ourselves."
"Why twenty-four hours?" Anne asked. "What's going on?"
Gert smiled. "Why, nothing less than the opening moves of war. Even as we speak, the dog as been loosened. The Sun Child Walks."
Stunned silence greeted these words.
"Where?" Montana asked, his voice unsteady and quavering.
"Why, where do you think? It has gone walking over the Hill."
Waahia held up her hand. "But, regardless that Silicon Valley is the stronghold of the Technocracy, but still, more than a million sleepers, innocent lives, still reside there. Would you doom them as well?"
"This IS war," Gert reiterated.
Waahia sagged back in her chair. "I had come here with an open mind. Now I see that you have shut it for me."
Gert ignored her implied threat. "Other than for your vote, what does it matter what you say? The Speakers haven't roused themselves for over a hundred years and your weak numbers offer little sway to my mind. I would tell you this, Waahia, do not stand against us. In answer to this man's question," Gert pointed at Lloyd, "we do not declare YOU an enemy, but by foolishness, YOU may declare yourselves as such."
"The werewolves."
The comment, sounding like a passing thought spoken aloud, came from the old man. This in itself was surprising because it had seemed that the mage was far more interested in the uncannily silent tabletop than in the matter being discussed; he had spent most of the meeting running his hand over its surface and staring at it as if he were looking beyond its surface into its very core.
Perhaps he could. But now he was looking at the Verbena mage, his gaze light, his expression almost but not quite a smile, but his manner was very direct, meeting the gaze of the powerful bloodmage easily.
"What did you tell them?"
His tone is light, suggestive of an idle question...but not so idle so as to be dismissed without an answer.
"When you asked for their assistance in summoning this...creature," he amplified, helpfully.
Gert's eyes narrowed as he regarded the Etherson, as if trying to read something behind the question. "We simply reminded them that it was the garou themselves who first summoned the Sun Child back in Oakland. We proposed that this time, we could help them control it and this we've done."
During this exchange, Igor simply looked at the people assembled around the table. He mostly had a confused look on his face (which he was unsucessfully trying to hide) as if many topics in this discussion eluded him.
Alexis ran his hand through his unkempt hair and spoke at a lull in the conversation.
"So, unless I misunderstand, and you'll have to forgive me for I have had too little sleep, you have summoned this thing - let's not use the word demon, it's so predjudicial - called the Sun Child so that you can inflict it on the Technocracy.
"I think I can speak to this from my own Tradition's history. It always begins like this - you summon a power you know you can control, to do something good. But the road to hell is paved with good intentions, is it not? You may believe that you are the one controlling the Sun Child. But are you so sure?
"I am afraid that while I may not count you as an enemy now, the day will come soon when the power you have summoned will take you out of the sunlit realms and into the dark. And then I will be forced to count you as an enemy, much as it pains me to raise a hand against a brother mage."
Alexis almost sat down again, but then apparently remembered something else.
"As for the grievances of the werewolves against the Hollow Ones and such mages, I think that they are legitimate. I hope you," and he nods to Gert, "Will convey to them that if there is anything that I can do to make up for the sins of my bretheren, any help I can render, I will do so."
And Alexis sat down again.
Helen jumped up from her seat. "DAMN YOU!" she spat in the direction of Alexis, her spittle landing wet and glistening on the table before him. "You think you can JUDGE US?!! You who are so high and mighty! Well, listen here, Herm," the Hollow leaned on the table glaring at Alexis. "Anyone - ANYONE - who wants a piece of us can try and find us willing and waiting! Do you understand that? This is about war and existence, and we don't care what happens to any of you! We will survive!"
Lloyd turned to the others. "The problem goes deeper than that, and is of broader scope then any of us may realize." He turned back to the Verbena. "You have spoken of the Werewolves as though they were a united front. They are not. There are many who oppose your group, both quietly and otherwise. For now, they wait, hoping reason will win the day. Eventually they will be able to wait no longer. They will strike, or you will. It doesn't matter which. When that inevitable day comes, the Garou will go to war against themselves. Their attention will be divided, their focus scattered. You will be called upon to help your allies. Fail, and your alliance shatters into a thousand bloody pieces. Come to their aid, and you get dragged into their politics. Either way, your focus is lost, a situation that can only help our enemies.
"Further, this tribunal is hardly unified on this issue. We will take sides. It is happening already. Look around you! Reverend Joy and her Choirsters will almost certainly fight you. Others will follow. War will break out among the Traditions, and blood will spill. You, of all people, should understand what the spilling of blood does to human passions.
"The Technocracy will have to react. Or are you fool enough to think you can defeat them in a stroke? They will move with precision, coordination, and sound tactics into a field covered by warring factions too distracted by their own battles to fight the one that matters. Can the Marauders or the Nephandi be far behind?
"And in the center, the Sun-Child waits, feeding off the blood we spill."
His eyes locked on Gert. "I have seen war. I know it perhaps better than any person here. You say you control the Sun-Child. I say that point is irrelevant. You do not. . . .you *cannot*. . .control the events that must follow. The factors I have named are but a few that will surface."
His gaze shifted to Bessie. "Your cause is lost before it begins," he said solemnly. "Your tactics betray your objectives. There is only one path open to you." He spoke slowly and emphatically. "Change your course."
Gert shook his head, composed and resolute. "We will not. And any who oppose us will be destroyed. Despite all your rhetoric, you shall find that it simply comes down to this."
Reverend Joy spoke. "Your attitude, Gert, is hardly surprising. I had only allowed the barest bit of hope you could be persuaded otherwise. My true purpose in inviting you here was to show to the others how intractable you truly are."
Gert didn't reply but merely sneered at her.
She rose and all eyes turned to her.
"The outcome of this Tribunal shall be relayed to our Tradition chapters elsewhere. We urge you to contact your fellows abroad but we shall endeavor to do the same and word of this Tribunal shall soon be broadcast worldwide. Based on the outcome of our vote here tonight, we can bring pressure to bear on other Verbena chapters. All Verbena must be held accountable for your actions," she calmly stated to Gert. "If we cannot persuade you, then others of your Tradition will have to renounce you or they will suffer if they do not. Do not doubt it."
"You will not prevail. No matter what you decide otherwise, these minions will not plunge their Traditions into war," Gert told her.
"We shall see. I doubt that even other Verbena elsewhere will support you in this once the outcome of this Tribunal is made known," the Reverend replied. Turning to the others, she said, "As representatives of your Traditions, when we vote, each Tradition shall have one vote. The majority shall rule and if the motion carries, then the measure shall be supported by all the Traditions, on pain of being outcast and hunted."
"The motion being proposed is this - That the Verbena Stone Hollow Chantry will desist their alliance with the entity known as the Sun Child and that they will banish said entity back to the nether regions from which it came. That failing to do this, that the Stone Hollow Chantry will be declared as outcasts to be hunted and destroyed by all those who hold themselves to the Traditions. All Verbena chantries worldwide are called upon to renounce the Stone Hollow Chantry and aid in its destruction or face the same at the hands of all the Traditions. We shall vote in order of our seating. Does anyone have anything to say or add before the voting commences?"
Gert yawned as if the Reverend's words were of little interest to him. He hadn't even finished yawning as he spoke. "I wonder what the members of our little gathering would think if they knew, Reverend, that you were in contact with the Technocracy New World Order."
Waahia gasped. "Reverend Joy, is this true?"
The barest flicker of surprise registered across the Reverend's face, in the form of her eyes, which widened just slightly.
"Well, is it?" the Cultist, Montana, insisted.
Reverend Joy simply nodded. "Yes, it is my intention to warn the Technocracy. Why not? If anyone should expend their energies and resources fighting this abomination, why should it not be our enemies?"
"So, you would use us to gut the Technocracy anyway," Gert laughed. Turning to the others, he said, "You see how the Chorus acts? We've denied nothing, but here THEY are scheming behind all our backs. Don't think that they won't sell you out just as soon if it suits their purpose. As far as their concerned, Santa Cruz is theirs. Once we're gone, who will be next? The Euthanatos? The Hollows? The Adepts? We all know what happened to the Herms and Akashics a hundred years ago. The Chorus burned out their chantries and killed every one of them that they could lay their hands on."
"That was long ago," the Reverend calmly replied to the accusing stares that greeted her all around the table. "Situations and attitudes have changed much since then."
"She's lying," Gert sneered. "Once you vote her way, she'll be done with you. She doesn't need you, just your vote. After all, she's got the Technocracy as an ally now, don't you, Reverend? The way I see it, we're both dancing with devils. You know the caliber of loathsome treachery that embodies the Techs. Why not give our way at least a chance? You don't have to join us. Just agree not to fight us. Vote NO against this insane proposal and refuse to be Chorus puppets!"
The Adept Anne sighed. "Well!"
The Reverend didn't make any further reply, but simply waited for any last concerns or proposals to be put forward.
At this point, everyone present was surprised to see the red granite table glow, just slightly. The point of emanation originated from the Euthanatos, Igor, and spread with fingers of light barely perceptible within the stone, touching each of the magi present.
"Do not think that even subtle uses of Magick go unnoticed HERE," the Reverend calmly informed the Euthanatos.
The Russian turned toward the Reverend, with an impassible face. "I don't know anything about the topics discussed here. If I can't judge the ideals, I can at least sense the worth of the people supporting them." Those words were all the explanations he gave, before lapsing into complete silence again.
The elderly Son of Ether filled the silence. Addressing Gert once more, he said, "One more question. A small technical matter." His tone is matter of fact. "What preparations have you made with respect to Resheph?"
Gert turned his head, as if thinking. Finally, he replied, "Resheph? You speak in riddles Etherson. Is this a name or a term you use?"
However, Jack did not answer, merely watching the Verbena quietly. Unanswered, Gert shrugged and seem to forget the question entirely.
After a quiet lull, Reverend Joy addressed the Tribunal. "It seems we've all said what we're going to say. Now has come the time to vote. Please - place your hands upon the table, palms downward. Here is my proposal, - that we together form an alliance with the express purpose of defeating the Verbena. We shall inform our Traditions of this decision and all Verbena chantries that do not acknowledge the righteousness of this decision shall themselves come under pressure from our brothers and sisters. Consider this a dwell upon the answer, a yes or no."
One by one, all present placed their hands upon the table as directed. Interestingly, it was Besie and not Gert who voted for the Verbena. Gert kept his hands folded, scowling as he watched the Tribunal members. A sound of ringing invisible chimes sounded announcing what decision the Tribunal had come to.
The chimes sounded low with a mournful tone, meaning that the Tribunal had decided upon war.
"I want a polling!" Gert promptly demanded.
In the order of their seating, a coloured light emanated from the table, weaving either a thread of positive white light, that of disagreeing dark green or the neutral tone of purple. Those voting yes included the Dreamspeaker, Order of Hermes, Celestial Chorus, and Akashic Brotherhood. No votes were cast by, not surprisingly, the Verbena, but also the Cult of Ecstasy and the Virtual Adepts. For all their rhetoric, Helen, the representative from the Hollow Ones, who had been allowed to vote had abstained as had the Euthanatos and Son of Ether, both indicated by purple spots on the portion of table in front of them. War had been voted for by the slimmest of margins.
Gert glared at of all people, the Euthanatos. "You'll live to regret this," he spat, storming out of the room.
Besie lingered a moment. "Please, don't fight us. You'll only doom yourselves." Then she quickly left before anyone had a chance to reply.
The Reverend folded her hands. "I would have rather this had been a more unified decision, but accordingly, by the convention of the Tribunal of 1856, I declare that all members of the Traditions in this room, including in this instance, the ones who call themselves the Hollow Ones, shall be bound to take forceful action against the Verbena in order to halt this abomination. We, as instigators, will take the first action and we expect and require that any and all of you aid us in whatever request we make to prosecute this war. We must act quickly, lest the Verbena take the time to strike out at us. Gert has said that the Sun Child walks tonight. Hopefully, that shall not be true of tomorrow night as well. Unless anyone has anything to add, I declare this Tribunal adjourned."
Igor looked at the people still seated around the table.
"They will strike at me first, I presume. Gert was angry and feels betrayal from me. He tried to buy my vote with money and blackmailing, and as I reponded with honesty instead of fear or greed to this issue, it was sufficient to tip slightly the balance toward war. I was warned the Choristers," Igor gave a small nod to the Reverend. "would seek me out and destroy me unless I had the Verbenas' protection. I know nothing of you, you know nothing of me. I wish no harm to anyone and would like nothing better than to be as little involved in this as possible. Though my life is in jeopardy now from the little I understand of what happened tonite. I will help as best as I can if I am assured that the Choristers will leave me alone after this."
It seemed like talking too much was very unusual for him. He waited for any reply, hesitant and quite uneasy about this diplomatic exchange.
The Reverend returned to Igor a thin lipped smile. "Our Euthanatos brother here has nothing to fear from us. As long as the peculiar practices of his `Tradition' do not offend our sensibilities, then we shall not bring him or those of his way any harm - especially given his promise to aid us. And now, if you good people do not mind, I have much to do."
With that, the Reverend got up and left the table.

(Jack does remember reading an obscure tome about a twin demon, who had two visible persona and was capable of being in two places at once. One was fair and good seeming, though an embodiment of firey wrath and destruction known as the Sun Child. The other was a foul putrid being of corruption, capable of possessing sleepers and even the awakened, but by virtue of such possession, the possessed would be themselves corrupted and destroyed. This, lesser known aspect was known to the ancient Hebrew mystics as Resheph, the destroyer.
Both are aspects of the same entity. Both require blood and souls to sustain them. Though the Sun Child is more well known among mystics on Earth, Resheph has laid waste to entire planets exisiting in other realities within the Umbra.)

1. The Sun Child, even while the Tribunal was meeting, was supposedly attacking the Technocracy. Your character learns that in actuality, it attacked and destroyed one of the main Sons of Ether chantry in Saratoga and the site of a powerful node.

2. The Celestial Chorus orchestrated an attack on the Verbena and werewolves Tuesday night. They were beaten off, taking terrible losses, including Reverend Joy, who lies near death in Unity Temple.

3. Magi from all the Traditions are converging on Santa Cruz, ready to try and take the Verbena node and disrupt their tie to the Sun Child - or to defeat the Sun Child itself. No one is heartened by the defeat of the Chorus, who were the most powerful Tradition in Santa Cruz. Most assualts are being planned on purely Tradition based lines. Rumours are that the Dreamspeakers will be the next to try. Even the Hollow Ones are trying to put forth an effort, hoping to win respectability as a Tradition among their laurels. Even other Verbena from elsewhere, who agree with the findings of the Santa Cruz Tribunal are offering their own help to fight their brothers and sisters in the mountains.

Friday, June 9, 1995. 2:30pm.

Jack worked in his lab, setting up an experiment, trying to forget about the world. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he worried about Anne. And he seethed with anger over the destruction of the Saratoga chantry.
Useless worry, he had told himself. Useless rage. And so he dove into his experiments. He'd never been to the chantry, but he had felt a kinship with the men and women there, and he knew he'd lost a chance to enjoy the company of those with minds much like his, and he mourned the loss.
Useless mourning. A sick boy needed him. This would be his seventeenth attempt at trying to reintroduce free quintessence into a drained creature.
He'd put together his working theory during the past few days. The camera contained an entity; the entity was an essential component in the workings of the device. When a picture was taken, the entity was freed, and it fed off the extra quintessence that was the life force of living things. Sleepers have little to spare, and the drain impaired their life functions drastically.
A rabbit moved feebly in a cage in Jack's basement laboratory. He'd taken its picture with the camera. Now he was trying to reverse the effect.
He pressed a button on the side of a box set before the cage. Within, a tiny amount of tass was consumed. The resulting energy was focused via mirror-bright metallic surfaces and lenses into a beam that crossed the distance between the box and the caged rabbit. Devices monitored the rabbit, measuring its response.

[Ruby: In short, Jack is trying to figure out how to reintroduce the energy that the entity in the camera steals into a living creature. He probably doesn't have the right kind of spheres for this, but with some effort a smart fellow like Jack could probably come up with something, even if it is a bit crude and inefficient.
Also, that morning Jack would have taken time to go through his personal library to see if he could locate that passage about the Sun Child. If he found it, he would have prepared a copy of those pages and intends to schedule time to deliver the copy to the Unity Temple.]

Friday, June 9th, 1995 3:50 p.m.

(Using Mage, 1st ed., the effect described above is judged to be a Life 2, Prime 2 effect.)
Jack eagerly watched the rabbit. At first, the animal responded well to the influx of raw energy now focused on it's frame. However, this soon proved to be only an empty promise. As soon as Jack stopped the beam, the rabbit fell back to it's listless repose and soon died.
Holding the dead animal in his hand, feeling the softness of its fur on the edge of his consciousness, Jack shook his head and turned again to one of the other animals, feeling ashamed for having brought death, even to a simple animal.
However, it soon became apparent that it was not a good day to be a rabbit. One after the other, rabbits succumbed to Jack's attentions, most never even rousing themselves after being "photographed". Jack, finally despairing of finding an answer by himself, determined to seek help.
But where? he asked himself. The Sons main chantry in the area was in ruins, it's members either dead, in flight, or with too many pressing concerns at the moment to offer Jack any help, even if he could talk to them. But hadn't Brutus said that there was another Son of Ether in Santa Cruz. Brutus, who had been Deacon in Saratoga, had mentioned sending another to investigate the phenomena that had since been revealed as the Sun Child demon. Jack even wondered if this poor soul had survived his or her mission. And with Brutus presumably dead, how could Jack contact him or her.
Jack tried the Etherscope but there was nothing but hazy grey mist. A ringing buzzer told him that someone was in his shop above. Casting a worried glance at the chemical vat that he had dumped the dead rabbits into, Jack climbed to attend hurriedly to this customer before closing the store for the day.
He was mildly surprised to find Dark Roger waiting for him.

Friday, June 9th 8:39 p.m.

Jack heard Dark Roger out on what the boy had found out for him. Nothing much had come to light but the boy said that the had a contact who knew much about the spirit world and who might be willing to talk to Jack, of course for a price. Jack, so much on his mind, much of it centered around Anne, nodded absently.
At the time, he hadn't known why, but he remembered casually asking Roger if he might know of anyone who reminded him of Jack himself. It was a strange thing to ask, but stranger still to receive a positive answer.
"Yeah," Roger had answered. "There's this guy at the Boardwalk. He runs a comic store"
Unfortunately, the owner of "the Emerald City" was not in. He hadn't been in for days according to the kid who was working the counter, a young college type named Vic.
Jack took Dark Roger off to a nearby hamburger stand, ignoring the excited screams of sleepers from the roller coaster that rumbled on the tracks above the building. He and Dark Roger talked about shadows and the things that prowled them. It was an interesting conversation, to say the least.
According to Roger, spirits of the restless dead haunted items or people that were pivotal to their lives or some trauma in their lives. It was probably such a case with the camera that Moira had given Jack. And according to Roger, not all spirits were kindly. Some were dark malevolent beings, hungry for a life that was no longer theirs and quite willing to steal even a "taste" of life from the living, to comfort their despair and pain of death.
Though somewhat on the edge of any rational sense, still Jack had no trouble accepting this. He knew from studying arcane texts in the libraries of other Sons that fanciful beings out of mythology and Gothic horrour not only probably existed, but were probably not so uncommon as the sleepers around him wanted to believe. He certainly had his own personal experience with werewolves, like his darling Anne, as well as vampires. Ghosts? Why not?
So, listening to Roger, it was perfectly plausible for Jack to accept the young Goth's hypothesis. Dark Roger, for his part, seemed to have a hard time accepting how easily Jack seemed to be accepting Roger's view of the topic.
Roger went on to maintain that the camera would have to be "cleansed", though what he exactly meant by this he could not say.
Jack recognized the owner of the Emerald City by the way Vic reacted when a young bedraggled looking man walked into the store.
"Cool! So, can I get paid now?" was the first thing Vic said to this man.
The man ignored Vic, staring both at Jack and Dark Roger. Jack held out his hand which the owner only looked at.
"Jack Edar," Jack introduced himself. "I'm an acquittance of Deacon Brutus, who I think you also know."
"Jacob Baum," the other Son of Ether said, finally taking Jack's hand and shaking it weakly. "You'll have to excuse me but I'm rather tired. What was it you wanted?"
"Actually, I came wondering if you could help me with a problem I'm having. I'm running a little experiment"
Jack never finished as Jacob began to laugh hysterically.

Saturday, June 10th, 1995 1:57 a.m.

"Well, that was productive," Jacob sourly commented on yet another failure. "At least the rabbit is animate, though I'm not sure how much of an improvement that is."
With Jacob's help, tired though he was, Jack had been able to progress farther in his experiment, though still without much success. The rabbit, or what had once been a rabbit shuffled in the cage while it's rotting flesh fell from it's still animate skeleton. The previous subject had just crumbled to dust, it's lifeforce shattered from the inharmonious wedding of it's life energy with the raw tass. This newer attempt seemed to be fueled somewhat by the negative energy of the camera. However, when Jack turned off external the tass energy, the undead rabbit also fell to dust, though with a protesting scream that sent touches of fear travelling along Jack's spine. Jack sat back down in his chair, exhausted.
Jacob collected his things. "Well brother, I'm off to shower, bed and a good meal, not necessarily in that same order. I'm sorry that I wasn't much help to you. You're on the right track. But what we need is someone more proficient with the Sphere of Life, at least going about it in the way you are." Without further ado, Jacob ascended the stairway, turning only at the last.
"You won't change your mind then?"
Jack turned to face Jacob. "I'll think about it. As representative of our order, I abstained. I do not think that this war is our first priority. It's an affair between the Chorus and Verbena. "
"That's your choice," Jacob sourly commented. "But remember our dead brothers - including my good friend, Brutus. You can stay here with your head in your sandy tass, in ignorant bliss with your experiments"
"May I remind you that a young boy's life is at stake," Jack curtly replied.
Jacob refused to shut up. "Excuse me, but may I remind you that all our lives are at stake. Our brethren were the first to fall. Brutus died the very night you were attending that tribunal. If only I had been here instead up in the mountains." Jacob shook his head. "I might have been able to warn them if I'd been at that meeting instead of you. I don't suppose you even thought to turn on your etherscope - to warn them?"
"Are you blaming me?" Jack asked, deciding to bring the subject out into the open.
"I don't know," Jacob said. "Maybe. I'll let you know when I decide." With that he left and Jack was alone. Actually, he wasn't quite alone. The thing in the camera waited with him, anxious for the moment that Jack would release the shutter and let it out again to "taste" life.

Saturday, June 10th 9:54 a.m.

"Thank you," the acolyte said, taking the copy of the manuscript Jack had found concerning the Sun Child.
"I'm sorry to hear about the Reverend," Jack said.
"She's not dead yet," the acolyte replied, casting a dark look toward Jack as a sort of comment.
"Of course," Jack replied. "But I hear that she's wasting away. I'm working on an experiment. If I succeed, perhaps I can use it to help her."
"That is good to hear," the acolyte brightened. "Is there anything we can do to help?"
Jack had heard that the famed strength of the Celestial Chorus was now only a memory. They had left better than half their number dead or worse than dead in the mountains. Now, maybe only half a dozen wounded members, including their dying leader, were left. The Chorus had called for this war, Jack thought. Would they try again, knowing what it had already cost them?
Jack cleaned his glasses while saying what he had to say. "In reading that manuscript, I noted that the description of the Sun Child that it is linked to the other persona of Resheph. If you could find Resheph, perhaps in that way you could bring some pressure to bear on the Sun Child, who for all your efforts seems beyond your ability to harm in any way. Also, I doubt the Verbena or the werewolves themselves realize that their ally is also the same being as Resheph. If they realized that their shining demigod is in reality also the slayer of entire worlds, perhaps they would think again about the bargain they have made."
"Do you think the Verbena would listen to us, having bested us and your own Sons of Ether?"
"I don't know. But if they didn't, maybe the werewolves would."
"And how are we to contact the werewolves then? Certainly, they would never listen to us now - enemies - as they must see us?"
Jack paused. "I have a 'contact' among the werewolves. I might be able to avail myself of it. I don't know."
"I'm not sure what you're offering us, if you are indeed offering anything," the acolyte said. "You abstained for your order in the Tribunal, and you still haven't taken up a very active roll in this war. We would have thought you would have sought revenge for your brothers in Saratoga. I doubt there is much you can do. There are only two of you, but perhaps if you and the other Son were to join us in another attempt at the Verbena node"
Jack shook his head. "I will act when I decide the time is right. I would have thought that your experience has shown you that direct assault is useless. Read the manuscript. There are hints of rituals and ceremonies in other texts that might prove useful."
The acolyte nodded. "Very well."
Jack, seeing that the meeting was over, got up to leave. "If I have success with that experiment, I'll let you know."
The acolyte didn't say anything but watched Jack leave quietly.
Jack noticed, on the way out, that though the smell of incense was still present, there was no chanting as if the church were in mourning for its dying leader.

Saturday, June 10th 8:41 p.m.

Jack had spent the entire day reading and attending to customers. Despite the Mage War raging in the mountains, sleepers flocked through those very hills to the shore, eager for fun and summer pleasures under the heat of the sun. It wasn't until late at night that Jack finally was ready to return to his experiment, that was until a persistent knocking made its way known before he could descent to his lab.
"We're closed," he shouted, but the knocking persisted.
Warily, he made his way to the front door, afraid that perhaps the Verbena or some werewolf assassins had found him out, ready to root out the Sons of Ether once and for all.
A robed acolyte of Reverend Joy's church stopped knocking when she saw Jack's face peering out at her.
Jack opened the door.
"I'm Sister Virginia Cugnot," the young woman said without smiling. "Brother Louis said you might have a way to save Reverend Joy and sent me to help you."

Saturday, June 10th 8:43 p.m.

Jack beamed at her, delighted. "Of course, of course! Please come in!" He stepped aside, gesturing her into the store and closing the door behind her.
He then led her upstairs, commenting, "What I am doing requires some background to understand. Please be patient while I burden you with some history and then we can get down to it. Would you like some tea?"
Regardless of Sister Cugnot's preferences, Jack began to puttering in the kitchen. His tea kettle was a complexity of metal pipes that brought the water to a boil with remarkable speed. As he prepared the tea, he turned to her and said, "Nine days ago..."
His voice trailed off, and he stared into space for a moment with an expression of amazement. "Nine days. Seems more like a year." He recovered and continued, "In any case, nine days ago a woman came to me with a rather battered camera. Despite the fact that it seemed that the camera could not function, she showed me pictures that she had taken with it. They were quite...odd. The camera seems to be able to take pictures that include elements of the past, as well as the images of entities not visible to the naked eye. What made the matter urgent is that she had taken pictures of her son, and a dog. The dog had died, and the boy has become very ill.
"She left the camera with me. Through experimentation, I have discovered that some...entity inhabits the camera. It is malign. My impression is that when a picture is taken of a living thing, the entity seems to feed off the...energy of the picture's subject.
"My primary concern has been to try to find a way to replace the energy that the camera steals. If I can do that in a reliable fashion, then perhaps I can help the boy regain his health.
"Unfortunately, my studies have focused more on basic energies than life energies. As a result, I've only been able to get a brief positive reaction in my test subjects; they soon succombed to the effect of the camera. With someone familiar with life energies, perhaps I can effect an effective cure."
He finished pouring the tea, adding sugar to his own and whatever Virginia wanted to hers, then handed her cup to her, and continuing, "I also hope that if we can get this method perfected, we can then adapt it to Reverend Joy's affliction and restore her to health. Too many have died already."
He gave her an opportunity to ask questions, then stood and said, "Well, if you're ready, let's go to my lab and I can show you what I've been doing."

Sunday, June 11th 9:22 a.m.

Jack the Sister Cugnot had been working through the night. Though their philosophies on how to approach the subject had been remarkably different, nevertheless, through trial and perseverance, they had managed to progress and seemed near success.
Virginia seemed quite confused and suspicious of Jack's machinery. He could see that, in her eyes, he was little better than a Technomancer. In fact, to the Chorus, the recent defection of the Sons of Ether to the Traditions must have been viewed with much suspicion - given that they had been enemies for so long. The fact that a Chorus acolyte was here now, helping Jack, was a sign of how desperate they had become. Their war must be going very badly, he realized.
"I think your energy beam, though infused with a good positive energy flow, lacks sympathy for your patient," Cugnot explained. "You need to visualize yourself in harmony with the lifeforce that surrounds us all. Only then can you realize what links us all and what it is about power that can heal mind and body."
Jack interpreted this to mean that his output of quintessence was "out of phase" with the intended subject. Using the etherscope, he was able to detect very minute phase vibrations. Tuning his beam projector, he was able to adjust the vibrations of his beam to be more "sympathetic" to the test subject. He was surprised when it worked.
However, before they could become too elated, Jack the Sister soon discovered that each individual was different and it's lifeforce registered more, less or just different vibrations as detected by the etherscope.
"Though we are tied to the whole, each manifestation of creation has it's own song of destiny, which is but a single voice in the Chorus."
Jack patiently listened and then went back to work. What the sister was telling him, in her own long-winded way, was that he would have to readjust his beam for each different patient, reading the subject by etherscope and tuning his beam each time it was used.
Finally, after much trial and error and after the downing of many pots of tea, Jack the the sister were able to achieve successful results. All the rabbits lived.

Sunday, June 11th 6:12 p.m.

Rather than using the telephone, which she viewed as a creation of the Technocrats, Virginia Cugnot meditated. After enough time for Jack to drink a cup of tea, she announced, "You shall bring the creation (she refused to call it a machine) to the Temple. There we shall use its voice upon our dear Reverend."
Jack shook his head. "Think about it sister. You've seen it." He visualized the many feet of tubing and wiring, copper pots and flame spouts along with tass vaporizer, ether injector and numerous monitoring instruments. His prototype was anything but transportable. It was just to big - and too delicate.
"You can't move it. You'll have to bring her here."
The sister nodded. She realized he was right.
"We shall bring her tomorrow. You shall be ready?"
Jack nodded. Virginia smiled.
"Thank you, Jack." It was the only time she had used his name.

Sunday, June 11th 6:29 p.m.

Just a few minutes after Virginia had gone, Jack heard as he descended to his laboratory, an incessant knocking on the front door of his shop. He knew he'd already turned the sign to closed, but the knocking wouldn't go away. Sighing, he closed the secret door in the floor and went up to the store front.
Two men in black suits, wearing dark sunglasses and hats, were knocking on his door. Looking in, they saw him as soon as he saw them.
Men in Black!
They pointed something at the lock and there was a sizzling sound. Just as smoke poured from the lock, the men stepped inside. Jack was just about to jump over the counter when a woman's voice hailed him.
"Mister Edar?" Jack turned. A older woman, grey hair cut smartly short and wearing a flower print dress and Italian leather purse hailed him.
"I'm sorry if we disturbed you. I know this is after hours but our business is urgent."
Jack eyed the unmoving men towering behind her. Technomancers freely walking the streets of Santa Cruz?
"What do you want?" he asked.
She smiled. Jack thought the woman surely didn't seem the typical specimen of the New world Order.
"What do you want?" he asked them.
Again that disarming smile. Jack wondered if sharks seemed to smile as they went for the bite.
"We would like to do business. You sell antiques. We've come to understand that you are in possession of one we would like to buy from you."
Jack thought about telling them to go to hell, but the presence of the guards helped him to keep his tongue. "Would you mind describing this piece?"
"Certainly. It's an old silver coloured Kodak Camera, circa 1930. It has a cracked shutterbox and is otherwise in good condition."
Jack was proud of himself when he didn't flinch. "I'm afraid I don't own such a piece."
The woman nodded, as if expecting just such an answer. "I have here a letter from one Moira Coonery - instructing you to give us the camera - which I believe is her rightful property. Of course, we don't intend that your efforts shall go unrewarded. You can be very well provided for if you would only cooperate."
She put the letter down on the counter and stepped back, inviting Jack to look at it. He stepped up and glanced at it. Was it real? Did it matter?
"I don't have the piece you're looking for," he lied. "I've sent it out to a colleague."
The woman stopped smiling. "If I thought that were true, I'd have you killed for being stupid." The two guards perked up when killing was mentioned. "I think you know that I know the camera is still here in Santa Cruz - probably in this shop."
"Why didn't you just have, Mizz Coonery come and get it herself, being that it's her property?" Jack asked.
"That is not your concern. What does matter is that we have acquired the camera - legally and now wish to claim our rightful possession. I don't advise you to stand in our way. Unlike other Traditions, I have some sympathy for you Sons of Ether, given that you were once one of us."
"How do you know about me?" Jack asked.
She smiled but didn't answer otherwise. She glanced at her watch. "I'll give you twenty-four hours to come to your senses. Don't try anything stupid. We'll be watching you. If you choose not to cooperate, I think you know what ends we will go to to achieve our goals. Think on it."
Jack knew. He knew in a general sense what they would do to him.
The unnamed woman and Men-In-Black left and Jack realized how tense he'd been when he saw how his hands were shaking.

Monday, June 12th 11:47 a.m.

Jack had phoned the Temple. Despite their not liking the technology, they still possessed a phone number and seemed to be willing to make use of it when need arose. And they seemed to know the call was from him even before they'd answered.
Of course, they weren't happy when he told them about the Technocracy coming to visit. It hit them like a thunderbolt. Never had the Technocrats been brazen enough to show themselves openly in Santa Cruz. It was as if they were declaring themselves the new masters of the city.
Brother Louis wanted to send some Acolytes over to help fight the Men In Black but Jack warned him off - at least for the moment. The Chorus was weak after their fight with the Verbena and werewolves. Jack thought quickly of Anne and buried the thought. And Jack didn't want a full scale war to break out in his shop where he would be a certain victim. However, with Reverend Joy's condition deteriorating very quickly, Jack knew the Chorus would not hold out for long. They would try anything to save her, even if it meant fighting the New World Order. And Jack also sensed that if the New World Order knew that the leader of the most powerful Tradition in Santa Cruz was due to arrive at his shop, they would do everything to ensure her assassination.
Just as Jack was thinking about calling Moira, to see how the New World Order had come to know about the camera, his phone rang.
He picked it up, whishing that, like the Chorus, he already knew who was calling him.
"Hello?" he said into the receiver.
"Jack?" a male voice replied. The man's deep tone was strained, and it almost sounded as if he was repressing something. "It's Quinn Thompson, from The Hidden Earth. I need to talk to you."
"Hello, Quinn!" Jack sounded cheerful. "It's good to hear from you! How can I help you? Or, even better, why don't you come over? We could talk over lunch."
"Listen," Quinn fired back, "I appreciate the offer but right now I don't know who to trust. The only place I'll feel comfortable meeting is on holy ground. I know you have no obligation to me, but believe me when I say there are lives at stake and I need your help. That's all I can say over the phone. Will you meet with me?" Quinn's faint, nervous inhalations accented his tone.
There was a long pause.
Then, in a very serious tone, "If it were anyone but you, I'd have to say no. I'm in a bit of a tight spot at the moment myself. But if you say it's that serious then I'm sure it must be."
He sounded oddly serious and trusting toward someone with whom he'd had only one brief conversation.
"We should meet sometime this afternoon. I may not be available after that. But I'll need a bit of time before I can depart. When and where?"
Quinn breathed an audible sigh of relief before he continued.
"Can you meet at one o'clock," he inquired, at Holy Cross?"
"And Jack... thank you."
Jack paused again before answering.
"I'm sorry but at this very moment I can't leave the shop. I was hoping that you meant this evening. There are some rather immediate concerns that I have to deal with that preclude my leaving for a few hours. And I'm don't think that the phone lines are secure either. I'm pretty much certain we can count on anything said now to be overheard by other parties, so keep that in mind when speaking."
Quinn let out a hiss of frustration, then paused for a moment before continuing.
"All right, not much point in being coy. I'll meet you at your place A.S.A.P. Okay?"
"On reconsideration, I'm not sure that's a good idea either," Jack replied. "I've had some unwanted attention recently and I'm sure they're monitoring this phone call. Any visitors I had right now could be putting their lives in extreme danger." Jack paused. "Hold on, Mister Thompson. There's something I have to attend to."
Jack put down the phone and went to the front door. Two Men-in-Black were trying to come through the lock, but he'd already installed a phase barrier. No sooner had the two men come through when they dissolved, screaming as their substance, out of phase with the mini-universe occupied by the barrier, dissolved upon contact.
"Good ruse," Jack heard a comment from behind him. "But they were expendible." Jack heard a swishing sound followed by several dull thuds in his back, as if he were being punched. He fell heavily to the floor, and then, into the darkness.

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